


It's Only Just Started

by lalune15



Series: I Swear This Time I Mean It [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Domestic, Fluff, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, and talk about kids, basically just a lot of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:12:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalune15/pseuds/lalune15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Harry, I can’t tell you that I’m ready to have a baby, because I’m not,” Louis says, one hundred percent serious.  “But I respect how you feel, and I’m willing to be more open to the idea of fatherhood.”</p><p>Harry smiles, opens his mouth to reply, but Louis cuts him off again. “But I don’t want a baby until I feel like I’ve accomplished something. Like, I don’t want to be a father and be that guy who just serves people coffee his life, you know? I want to do something big first, whether it’s seeing the world or getting a new job or getting published. I want our son or daughter to be proud of me.”</p><p>“Louis, there’s no way in the world our kid wouldn’t be proud of you,” Harry’s staring into his eyes, trying to let Louis know how fiercely sincere he is. “You’re the most independent, clever, wonderful man I know. I hope our son or daughter is just like you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is my third and final piece of the series. I didn't originally intend for this to be chaptered, but I think it's necessary. So there is definitely more to come soon! I don't think you have to absolutely read the first two parts for this to make sense, but it'll probably help.
> 
> A huge thank you to anyone who's commented or left kudos on any of my other works! I appreciate them so much. Please let me know what you think of this so far!
> 
> Also, this is all fiction. These characters are not mine. Let's not tell anyone in this story that this story actually exists, ok? Oh, and the title is taken from the song "There, There Katie" by Jack's Mannequin.

It takes two months after their wedding for Harry to bring it up. They’re sitting on the couch in their flat, which was Harry’s flat until a couple months ago, Louis moving in almost immediately after their engagement. Louis had wanted to move somewhere entirely new, but Harry loved his home, and if he’s being honest, he didn’t want to leave the place where he and Louis first met. He loves being able to go outside and look at Louis’ old home, remembering when Louis first mocked him for reading to his plants, the plants that Louis has a secret affection for. He didn’t bring too much with him from his former home, choosing to keep most of Harry’s furniture and appliances, as his was much more comfortable and actually looked like it belonged, as opposed to the random pieces of furniture Louis acquired, none of which matched or was comfortable to sit on. What Louis did bring was books, boxes and boxes of books that Harry has taken to sorting through, picking Louis’ favorites to read to his garden at night. Currently, he’s reading The Sun Also Rises, although if Harry’s being quite honest, he finds Hemingway pretentious and monotonous. But he’ll do what he can to appease his stubborn, brainy husband.

“Lou?” Harry asks quietly as they watch a movie, Louis’ head lying in Harry’s lap, Harry’s fingers carding through his soft hair. 

“Yeah?” Louis asks distractedly, half watching the movie and half falling asleep, very content and comfortable with his husband. 

“What do you want more than anything? Like anything in the entire world?”

Louis, not unused to Harry asking seemingly random and out of place questions, sits up and rubs his eyes to wake himself up. He could be annoyed, but he knows that Harry’s questions, as odd as they may seem, always have a motive behind them. He’s careful in that sense.

“Um…I don’t know, Harry. I have the thing I want the most sitting next to me on this couch.”

“Sap,” Harry mutters, elbowing him in the side.

“Well, it’s true,” Louis huffs. “But I guess I also want to be published. And I want to travel. And have a job that doesn’t include making coffee all day, although if I was published I don’t suppose I would mind too much. Why do you ask?”

“Dunno,” Harry mumbles, rather uncharacteristically as he looks at his feet. Louis knows he’s not telling him something, because Harry always refuses eye contact when he is. He’s like a child.

Louis sighs. “What do you want more than anything, Harry?”

“Family,” Harry replies matter of factly. “I don’t really want or need money. I don’t have any major career goals, I’m pretty happy with where I’m at as far as photography and yoga classes go. And there’s nothing I really want more than you. And for my mum and sister to be happy. And maybe, one day…kids.”

“Ah,” Louis acknowledges, not knowing what to say to that. He knew Harry had a reason. 

“Do you think you might ever want that too?” Harry asks quietly, terrified of the answer. He knows he should have discussed this Louis before their wedding, but he also knew that even if Louis didn’t want kids, he wouldn’t be able to leave him. 

“One day, maybe, yeah. Not today. Or tomorrow. Or anytime soon. But possibly, eventually…yeah.”

Harry smiles and visibly relaxes, his eyes crinkling and his shoulders dropping. He leans forward and kisses Louis sweetly. 

“Not today. Or tomorrow,” he agrees, looking into Louis’ bright blue eyes. “But someday.” He stands and holds out his hand to Louis. “Come on, husband. Let’s go to bed.”

It comes up again three months later. 

“Haz? Harry, wake up!” Louis yells, shaking Harry’s shoulder roughly.

“What?” Harry groans into his pillow, not sitting up. “It’s early, Lou.”

“It’s after nine, Harry, and I’ve been waiting to wake you up for six hours, ever since a certain Irishman called at three in the bloody morning to announce the birth of my new niece!”

Harry shoots up, his eyes opening widely. “Niall and Eleanor had their baby? Why didn’t you wake me, you git?” He shouts, giving Louis a look. 

“Oh for God’s sake Harry, it was three AM and you were snoring like a chainsaw. Besides, I wanted to give the new family some time to themselves, but I can’t wait any longer! Come on!” Louis stands up and begins getting dressed, assuming Harry will follow suit. Which he does, of course.

“And we have to stop at a shop, too! What do we get a newborn? A stuffed animal? A blanket? No, she probably has those. Or do we get something for Niall and Eleanor? Or both?” Louis rambles as he pulls on black skinny jeans and a black and white baseball tee, slipping on his vans without socks, a habit Harry finds utterly disgusting.

Harry won’t tell his husband, but he loves seeing Louis get so excited over Niall’s daughter, hoping this will inspire Louis to get serious about kids of their own. He knows Louis said not anytime soon, but he also hasn’t spent time around a baby in quite a while. Louis has much younger siblings, but they’re all past the baby stage, and he doesn’t go home to see them that often, choosing to call or skype rather than actually go back to Doncaster. Harry’s only met Louis’ family a small handful of times, in contrast to the many times Louis has met his mother and sister. He knows Louis has some issues with his family, but they don’t discuss them that often, as Louis becomes snarky and prickly when Harry broaches the subject. 

“We’ll get both, babe. We can get her a stuffed animal and some flowers or something for Eleanor and Niall. Or, actually, shit, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. I can give them a free photography session, and a framed photo. Think they’ll like that?”

“I think that’s perfect,” Louis says, pausing from running his fingers through his hair to smile at Harry. “That’s a lovely idea.”

Harry grins, slipping a green sweater over his messy curls. “It’s settled, then. Now let’s go meet my newest client.”

Harry and Louis walk quietly into Eleanor’s hospital room, afraid to wake up anyone who’s sleeping. Eleanor’s sitting up in bed, the baby in her arms, while Niall strokes a finger down her tiny cheek. Both are so enraptured by their daughter that they don’t notice anyone walk into the room, until they hear the click of Harry’s camera.

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes, smiling sheepishly. “You all just looked so content, I wanted you to remember it.”

“It’s ok,” Eleanor tells him quietly, tearing her eyes away from her daughter. Niall has already gotten up and grabbed Louis in a huge hug, embracing him tightly. 

Niall breaks away, murmurs a hello to Harry, and maneuvers his daughter out of Eleanor’s arms. “Lads, meet Regan.”

“Oh!” Louis exclaims quietly. “Hello, Regan,” he says to the little girl, who’s blinking and looking at Louis, eyes taking in the new person in the room. 

“It’s a beautiful name,” Harry tells the new parents.

“It means the king’s child,” Niall announces, a smirk on his face. 

“Does it, now?” Louis says, making little faces at Regan in her father’s arms. “That’s fitting for a princess like you, isn’t it?”

Regan lets out a small squawk, causing everyone to laugh. “I guess she agrees, King Niall,” Louis says, stepping back so Harry can have a proper look at her. She’s an average weight and length, and though her eyes are blue like all newborns, Harry assumes they’re going to stay blue like Niall’s, since her face looks like a miniature version of his, with a tuft of blonde hair on top of her head. He knows babies look a little different when they’re first born, but so far Regan is the spitting image of her father. 

“Niall, she looks just like you,” Harry tells him, noting the proud smile that spreads across Niall’s face. “I can’t believe she already has so much hair.”

“They say it’ll probably fall out and grow in darker,” Eleanor offers. “But I hope not. I want her to be blonde like her daddy.”

“She’ll be beautiful either way,” Harry tells her. “And she’s being rather calm for meeting two new people so soon.”

“She’s hardly cried so far,” Niall tells Harry and Louis, his eyes never leaving Regan’s face. “Just when she’s hungry or needs to be changed. She seems pretty happy though, doesn’t she El?”

Eleanor smiles, reaching out for her daughter again. “I think she’s going to be like you in every sense, Ni. Happy and bright. Although she might start wailing for days at any time, and then we’ll really regret saying this,” she jokes, settling Regan into the crook of her arms. 

Harry and Louis stay for about an hour before they leave to let everyone get some sleep. Eleanor and Niall loved Harry’s gift, as well the stuffed elephant they bought for Regan. They both held Regan for a few minutes, but she would cry for her daddy after a few minutes with either of them. Harry loved watching Louis with her, seeing how his face lit up when she looked at him, watching him smile and coo over her. Louis might not realize it, Harry thinks, but he’s meant to have kids. Harry’s never seen him as bubbly and bright as he is before now. 

“She’s definitely a daddy’s girl,” Louis remarks as they leave the hospital, fingers interlocked with Harry’s. 

“He’ll probably have her singing drinking songs before she can walk,” Harry agrees, squeezing Louis’ hand. 

“And learning to step dance and drink beer like it’s water,” Louis adds, smiling.

“ I think Eleanor is going to need all the luck she can get,” Harry says jokingly. “Did you see Niall’s face when he looked at Regan? Niall’s a goner for her.”

“He’s in love,” Louis answers. “That baby’s never going to want for anything.”

“She’ll have Niall wrapped around her little finger,” Harry says. “They’re going to be quite the duo when they want to be.”

“I bet she’ll be as cheerful as he is, too,” Louis tells Harry. “All of my sisters were menaces when they were born, they cried all the time. Regan barely made a peep.”

“So does that mean our baby will be a nightmare?” Harry asks, faux nervously. 

“Well, I guess it depends on who they take after, you or me,” Louis says. “But we don’t have to worry about that for a long time, right, babe?” He kisses Harry on the cheek and walks around to the passenger side of the car.

“Right,” Harry says quietly. The more he thinks about kids, the more he wants one, desperately. And he knows parenting is a big deal, that Louis has to be ready, but what if he’s never ready? Their drive home is quiet. 

“Harry, you’ve got to tell me what’s bothering you and stop tossing and turning,” Louis grumbles later that night, as Harry rolls around, trying to get comfortable, for the millionth time.

“I’m fine, Lou. I just can’t sleep,” Harry whines, lying back and trying to relax. “Go back to sleep.”

“Harry, I can’t sleep when I have a husband with the world’s most gangly legs kicking me in the calf every few seconds. Care to tell me why you’re taking up bedtime athletics?” Louis asks, both sarcasm and concern tracing his voice. He rolls on his side to face Harry and nudges one of Harry’s sock-clad feet with his own bare foot. 

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just thinking,” Harry says, turning to face Louis. 

“You don’t normally have problems sleeping, Haz. What are you thinking about?” Louis questions, locking his eyes onto Harry’s emerald set. He reaches up and runs a hand through Harry’s chocolate curls, pushing them out of his face. 

“Kids,” Harry admits, avoiding Louis’ gaze. “I know you said not for a long time, but seeing Regan today made me want our own baby, really really bad. And I didn’t want to tell you, but-“

“Harry, no,” Louis interjects. “You have to tell me when something’s bothering you. That’s why we’re married, to talk about this stuff. And we need to talk about it, especially something as big as kids. You can’t keep everything you want to yourself, you know? We’re in this together.”

Harry smiles at Louis, reaching over to kiss him softly. He intertwines their feet as he thinks about how to respond to his beautiful, wonderful husband. “I just don’t want you to be mad, Lou. I know you said you don’t want kids for a long time, if ever, but it’s like this urge I have and it’s driving me crazy.”

“Did you feel this way yesterday?” Louis asks. “Are you sure it’s not just because you saw Regan?”

“It is and it isn’t,” Harry answers. “I mean, I definitely want kids, I’ve always wanted kids, but seeing Regan definitely made it worse. I never felt like I was actually missing something before, like there was something absent from my life. But I can’t stop picturing a baby of our own, one with your eyes or intelligence or your dramatic streak.” Harry’s serious but he adds a joke on at the end, trying to ease Louis into this conversation.

“Harry, I can’t tell you that I’m ready to have a baby, because I’m not,” Louis says, one hundred percent serious. “But I respect how you feel, and I’m willing to be more open to the idea of fatherhood.”

Harry smiles, opens his mouth to reply, but Louis cuts him off again. “But I don’t want a baby until I feel like I’ve accomplished something. Like, I don’t want to be a father and be that guy who just serves people coffee his life, you know? I want to do something big first, whether it’s seeing the world or getting a new job or getting published. I want our son or daughter to be proud of me.”

“Louis, there’s no way in the world our kid wouldn’t be proud of you,” Harry’s staring into his eyes, trying to let Louis know how fiercely sincere he is. “You’re the most independent, clever, wonderful man I know. I hope our son or daughter is just like you.”

Louis starts to protest, but Harry doesn’t cut him off this time. “And I’m proud of you. So proud of you. There’s no one else in the entire world that I want to be with or have children with, and I’m proud every time I get to tell someone you’re my husband. I wish you wouldn’t doubt yourself so much, babe. You think you’re small but that’s not true, Lou. Not true at all. You’re fucking everything. At least to me.”

“I love you,” Louis says, hoping Harry knows how much he’s trying to say with those three words. That Harry is his entire life, not that he could ever bring himself to say that. But without Harry, Louis knows he would fall apart, as pathetic as that may sound. Louis has always prided himself on being independent, never needing anyone else. His mother provided him with food and shelter and everything, but she was too preoccupied with his sisters and her divorces to pay him too much attention, and after his mother divorced for the second time, he had to take care of himself and his sisters, pretty much on his own. He knows his family resents that once he left for uni, he never came back, and if he’s honest with himself, he hates himself for it, too. He feels horrible that he left his sisters without him, that he went from uni to his own flat without even making a pit stop at home. When he sees his family now, it’s awkward and uncomfortable, like meeting with distant relatives, not his own mum or siblings. 

Louis never imagined himself needing someone until he met Harry. And he certainly never imagined himself taking care of children again, whether they were his siblings or his own kids. He figured he’d be on his own forever, and he thought he was ok with that. It was Harry that walked out onto his balcony and changed Louis’ life irrevocably, forever. And Louis might not have guessed he’d end up here, lying awake in the middle of the night because he was worried about someone else, not due to his own anxiety and insomnia, something he hasn’t had to deal with since his wedding night. But there’s no where else he would rather be than whispering across pillowcases to his husband, on their own island of bedding and blankets in the dark. Louis loves sex with Harry, loves being so physically close to him, but to Louis, this is what real intimacy is, sharing private thoughts and small touches and loving whispers. To Louis, this is everything.

“I love you too,” Harry whispers, moving over until he’s on top of Louis, bracing himself with his arms and kissing him forcefully. Louis closes his eyes and gives in, returning Harry’s kiss and letting him take control, until they’re both lying naked in a sweaty tangle of sheets and limbs.

“Harry?” Louis whispers, hoping Harry’s still awake as he lies there thinking.

“Yeah, babe?” Harry’s sleepy voice floats out in the dark, raspy and slow.

“I swear I’m not going to make you wait forever. Just give me some time, yeah? I promise I’m going to work really hard. For you. You and our kids.”

“As long as you need, Lou. I’ll still be here,” Harry mumbles, rolling over to press against Louis, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face in the crook of Louis’ neck. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Louis drifts off to sleep with Harry snoring gently in his ear and a newfound determination in his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Louis' birthday and Christmas, and his family comes into play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I reread my previous works in the series and I realized I've kind of strayed from the original premise, of Louis being a surly writer who can pull quotes out of thin air and Harry as a philosophical type who reads to his plants. So my new goal is to work that back in to my current ideas. So I hope you like it?
> 
> Thanks to anyone who's commented, bookmarked, or left kudos! Please leave your thoughts on this chapter, too! I think the next chapter is where it's going to get really interesting.

“Happy birthday, sleepy,” Louis hears when he opens his eyes that morning.

“Hi,” He answers, smiling sleepily and blinking rapidly, blue eyes adjusting to the sunlight. “When did you get up?”

“A couple hours ago,” Harry tells him, gesturing to the clock. “It’s after 11, birthday boy.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Louis exhales, groaning dramatically and flopping back into the pillows theatrically. “I’m the age of the elderly. The senile. The graying and wrinkling!”

“You’re 29, babe,” Harry laughs. “You’re still pretty young. Although you do have a gray hair right…here!” he points to a spot near the nape of Louis’ neck, skin still golden despite the winter cold that’s chilled the miserable air outside. 

“Are you serious?” Louis yelps, sitting up frantically and grabbing strands of his caramel hair to pull towards his eyes.

“Relax, Lou, I was only joking,” Harry says, laughing wildly at his husband’s angry expression.

“You’re such an ass!” Louis yells, shoving his shoulder. “It’s my birthday, you’re supposed to be nice today.”

“I’m very nice,” Harry says. “That’s why I spent this morning making you breakfast and planning a very special birthday dinner for you. And I might have some presents for a birthday boy who’s not shooting me daggers and fretting over gray hair.”

“I’ll stop,” Louis promises, smiling at Harry. “So…presents?”

“They’re on the table,” Harry says, going to stand up.

“Wait,” Louis says. “I’m more interested in another kind of present first,” he tells Harry with a wicked glint in his eye, wrapping his short fingers around Harry’s thin wrist.

“And you say I’m the perv,” Harry sighs, rolling his eyes.

“And you say I’m the dramatic one,” Louis smiles in return, eyes crinkling with his wide grin. 

“I guess we’re just rubbing off on each other,” Harry says, leaning forward to kiss Louis. “But I have some last minute Christmas shopping to do, so I don’t have much time.”

“Perfect,” Louis says, locking his hands around Harry’s neck and pulling him down into a sloppy kiss, messy with tongues and teeth. “We don’t need that much.”

“I’ve gotta go, babe,” Harry says as Louis begins eating the breakfast Harry prepared for him, having opened the small pile of gifts Harry left on their kitchen table. Harry learned last year that Louis, in addition to being nearly impossible to shop for, is also horribly impatient when it comes to gifts. He tore through the few packages Harry had left for him, studying all of his gifts quietly and seriously, saying thank you but not showing much emotion. Harry doesn’t take offense, knows that’s just how he is. He can tell Louis likes his new vans, the few shirts and books he bought, sifting through the pages carefully. 

“I should only be a few hours, if that. Are you alright alone?”

“I’m twenty-nine Harry, not two. I think I can be alone for two hours. It gives me time to study anyway.”

“Lou, it’s your birthday and it’s Christmas. You can’t study today.”

“I can, and I will,” Louis says defiantly, much like a two year old. 

“You’re the smartest person I know and you read more books than…I don’t know, more than Hermione. You’re not going to fail, Lou.”

“Hermione? That’s the best you could do? You and I both know I’m a Slytherin, Haz. And I promise I will put the books down when you return, Harry. Go get your shopping done. And buy something extra special for me!” Louis calls after him as he walks towards the door to put his boots on.

“Don’t work too hard, Malfoy. That big brain of yours needs a break,” Harry says, pecking him on the cheek as he opens the door. Louis looks so cute in his pajama pants and glasses that he wishes he could stay with him all day, but he does have some errands to run. “And wash your hair, it’s getting greasy.”

“Says the man who can practically make dreads out of his curls,” Louis mutters. He’s not wrong though. Harry likes his hair longer, especially when he pushes it back, which, according to Harry, makes him look like a “hot dad.” Louis has been letting his hair go recently, partly because of Harry and partly because he just doesn’t care. He’s been keeping his word, working hard to be someone he feels his kids could be proud of. When he’s not working at Starbucks, he’s studying, preparing to take his professional skills test in an effort to get a teaching degree. He never pictured himself teaching, not a particularly happy or kid-friendly person, but he can imagine himself teaching English in a secondary school, where the kids are older and the material is more interesting. Some of Louis’ favorite books are ones he read in secondary. 

That’s not actually what he’s doing while Harry’s out, however. Unbeknownst to his husband, Louis has been working on a second novel; despite the complete lack of attention his first one has been given. To be fair, Harry would argue, Louis only sent his book to a handful of publishers before he gave up, hating the rejection each and every time. This one, however, Louis feels a new passion for, letting all of his former anxiety and inner turmoil spill onto the screen of his laptop. When Harry’s at yoga or doing a shoot somewhere, Louis is at home, on their balcony or in their bed, blasting old pop punk that Harry hates and Louis pretends not to listen to. His words come alive to the lyrics, all of his surliness and tension flowing along to “in case you were wondering, I can’t get comfortable in my own skin.” 

Between writing, studying, working, and spending as much time with Regan as he can, Louis has never been more exhausted. He’s also never felt more accomplished, like he matters, like what he’s doing matters. And part of that is Harry, part of it is the thought of a future with a family all his own, but part of it is all him. Somewhere between yelling at Harry across their balconies and now, Louis has lost a lot of his insecurities and anxieties, and yes, some of that is due to Harry, but most of it is all Louis, Louis accomplishing what he couldn’t do for years. He finally feels like he’s doing something, like he’s important, like he can be put in a crowd of people and still stand out, and have something to offer someone. 

Louis has done a lot of improving on himself. He’s still sarcastic, still moody, still finds it easy to slip into his own head and not come out. But he’s trying, and that counts for a lot. 

Harry’s strolling through the shops, looking for an appropriate small gift for Louis, when he receives the call. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Harry. It’s Jay…Louis’ mum.”

“Oh…hi,” Harry says, not quite sure why she’s calling him, but hoping everything’s alright. “How are you? Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine, love, just fine. I wanted to call you because, um…because I miss my son. And I’m sitting here on his birthday feeling quite horrible that he’s practically a distant relative to me, and I barely know his husband.”

Harry stays silent, not quite sure how to answer. He knows Louis wants a better relationship with his mother, knows how much he loves her and vice versa. And while he wants to help, to do whatever Jay will ask him; he knows Louis really has to do it himself. 

“Anyway,” she continues. “I know it’s last minute and you probably have plans already, but I was really hoping I could see you and Louis tomorrow. For Christmas and his birthday. And if not tomorrow, then sometime soon. The last time I saw him was at your wedding, and we barely spoke. And Harry, I would really love to get to know you better.”

“Right, um…I would like that, too. But I have to talk to Louis about it first before I agree to anything. But I’ll try. And I have a feeling he’s missing you today, too. I mean, he hasn’t said anything, but I know he is.”

“Thank you,” Jay replies quietly. “And I understand. Whatever he decides is fine with me, whether you come tomorrow or not is up to him. But thank you for listening to me, Harry. I’m so happy he’s married someone so kindhearted.”

Harry feels his heart breaking a little, for both Louis and his mother. It’s stupid that they don’t speak, he thinks. They both love each other too much for all of this. He knows Louis misses his mother, terribly, and his sisters. And he also knows Louis is hard on himself, too hard, for not being there for them like he had been for all those years. 

“Thank you,” Harry says. “I’m happy you called. Really.”

“Me too, dear,” she tells him. “Have a happy Christmas Eve, and kiss my angel for me.”

“I will,” Harry promises. “Bye, Jay.”

He makes his purchase and walks to his car, thinking about Louis the entire time. Louis, his beautiful, wonderful husband who’s been working so, so hard to make himself feel worthwhile, even though he’s the most intelligent, courageous man Harry knows. He knows Louis is going to get snarly the minute Harry mentions his mum called, knows he won’t react very well at first. And Harry feels horrible that he has to do this on his birthday, but knows it’s for the best that he tells him. He just has to think of the right way.

“Haz, does my hair look ok?” Louis asks, brow furrowed as he fiddles with his hair in front of the mirror.

“You look hot, babe,” Harry replies, thumbing through a magazine as he waits for Louis to finish getting ready.

“You didn’t even look, Harry. God,” Louis rolls his eyes, tweaking his hair some more. “I could have styled it into a Mohawk, for all you care, and you wouldn’t have even noticed.”

Really, Lou, must you always be so dramatic?” Harry asks, getting up to stand behind Louis, wrapping his arms around his waist. “You always look hot. And your hair always looks good. Well, unless you first wake up. But pretty much always.” He kisses Louis’ neck, sucking a mark into the skin.

“Seriously, Harry? Right before we’re about to leave? You’re an animal.”

“I just love you, babe. And especially today, since it’s your birthday. And you know we’re just going to dinner at Niall’s, right? It’s nothing special.”

“Harry, it’s lame enough that my birthday falls on Christmas Eve. I don’t need to add bad hair to it,” Louis answers drily. “But whatever. Let’s go.”

“After you, diva,” Harry smiles, gesturing Louis forward. 

Dinner at Niall’s is casual, but fun. Niall and Eleanor invited Zayn, Liam, and Isla as well. Harry didn’t want to impose, knew both families probably wanted to spend the holiday with their families, but Niall and Eleanor insisted, spending the next day with Eleanor’s family and going to Ireland for New Year’s. Zayn and Liam are splitting Christmas between both their families, so their Christmas Eve was free for Harry and Louis as well. Zayn and Louis have become rather close within the past couple of months. Louis and Liam have not been as lucky. They’re polite enough, for Harry’s sake, but Louis never entirely moved past Liam planting the idea of him cheating in Harry’s head, and Liam never really apologized for how intimidating and accusatory he was. The two men Harry love the most in the world, and they’re both as stubborn as mules. 

Louis spends most of his time making faces at Regan while Harry and Isla play with Lego’s on Niall and Eleanor’s floor, giving the four parents a break from the constant hawk eyes. Harry loves listening to Isla babble, her little brain coming up with new proposals for their Lego cities and people. She’s definitely gotten Zayn’s creative streak, with a big imagination and all sorts of ideas. He hopes his own child will be as happy and original. And as cute, too. Isla’s hair is as orange as ever, and she looks like a princess in her tartan dress, which Harry knows Liam put her in for the holidays. Zayn would probably dress her in Batman pajamas exclusively if he had his way.

“I think it’s time we put the old man to bed,” Harry says, noticing Louis yawn from across the table a few hours later. They all exchange goodbye and “Happy birthday’s” and “Happy Christmas’s” before they walk out the door, and soon it’s just Harry and Louis in their car on the way home.

“Did you have a good birthday, babe?” Harry asks from the driver’s seat, glancing over at Louis slouching in the passenger seat.

“The best,” he answers, sleepily. “It was my first birthday with a husband. How could it be bad?”

“Good to know all I had to do was exist,” Harry jokes, keeping his conversation with Louis’ mum in the back of his mind. He’d been waiting for the right time to bring it up and he knows it’s now, before Louis falls asleep.

“I’m serious, though, Harry. Most people don’t really care about my birthday since it’s Christmas Eve and all, but you made it special. It was perfect,” Louis tells him, sitting up and snaking his hand over the console to rest on Harry’s thigh. “I loved my birthday presents, too.”

“Good,” Harry answers. “Because you’re damn near impossible to shop for, if you didn’t already know.”

“My mother told me that every year, Haz,” Louis laughs. “The Christmas season was accompanied by quite a bit of sighing in my house.”

“Um, speaking of which,” Harry coughs awkwardly. Louis’ hand tightens on his leg. “Your mum called me today.”

Louis remains silent, waiting for Harry to continue.

“She said she missed you. She wants us to stop by tomorrow, y’know, for Christmas and all.”

“What did you tell her?” Louis asks quietly.

“I told her I’d talk to you. I can’t decide that for you, Lou. It’s all up to you.”

Louis says nothing, just turns his head to the window, a sure sign he’s thinking. 

“You can make up your mind tomorrow,” Harry assures Louis. “I’ll do whatever you want. My mum will understand if we show up late or early or whenever. It’s all up to you.”

Louis just nods, withdrawing into himself in the very way Harry didn’t want him to do. He’s not angry though, or flat out refusing to go, so that’s something. Contemplative Louis is preferable to angry Louis, at least in Harry’s mind. When Louis gets mad, his eyes flash and his words cut like a knife, quick and cruel. It’s funny, Harry thinks, that Louis is either brutally honest or impenetrably guarded. But he always starts out at an extreme and works his way to the middle. It just takes him time.

It’s much later that night, or very early the next morning, that Harry wakes up to find his bed empty. He walks out into their den, notices the pile of presents under their tree but no lights on, wondering where his husband could be. When he shivers he realizes Louis has gone outside, sitting on the balcony where they had their first date, first kiss, first everything. Harry walks out to find Louis bundled in clothing and blankets, smoking, while staring up at the sky.

“Can’t sleep?” Harry asks, rubbing his hands up and down in his arms in a vain attempt to stay warm.

Louis takes a final drag before stamping out his cigarette and flicking it into the small ashtray next to his feet, full of more discarded remnants.

“Not exactly,” he answers, looking at Harry with drooping, caught in the act eyes.

“Care to tell me what’s bothering you, or do you just want to ruin your lungs about it some more?” Harry asks gently, chiding but not condescending.

“I’m sorry,” Louis apologizes. “I swear, I haven’t smoked since I finished my book. But I needed it. Or at least I thought I did. I feel stupid now, though.”

“It’s alright,” Harry says, sitting on the blanket next to him and snuggling under the one Louis is using to get warm. “I hate to say it, but it reminds me of when I first met you. So s’not all bad. Although it’s a habit I definitely don’t want you falling into. I plan on keeping you for a long time.”

“Likewise,” Louis tells him, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist and pulling him closer.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Harry decides to speak again.  
“Are you thinking about your mum?”

“Yes,” Louis admits. “We have to go tomorrow, Harry. I know it. I just don’t want to. It’s going to be so uncomfortable and awkward. My sisters will all look at me like I left them for dead on the side of the road, like I’m a total stranger to them. My mum will try to force us to talk and it’s going to be so strange. And she’ll ask questions relentlessly, but about all the wrong things. And then I don’t know how to answer and my sisters look at me like I’m the biggest dick on the planet, so I start acting like one. And I feel horrible for dragging you into it.”

He takes a breath, continuing. “But I can’t not go. My mum hasn’t asked me to come home in years. The last time I saw her in person was at our wedding, and before that it was for a funeral a couple years back. I have to go.”

“It’s your family, Lou. I want to be dragged into it. And I don’t think it’ll be that bad. Your mum just wants to get to know you. Your sisters too, even if it takes them a while. They all still love you, when you get right down to it. And you love them, too. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t care so much.”

“Yeah, I care,” Louis says bitterly. “I care so much that I haven’t seen my little sisters grow up at all since I left home. They hate me!”

“No one could ever hate you, Louis,” Harry insists. “You’re making things much worse in your head than they have to be. You have no idea what tomorrow will be like. You could end up having the best holiday of your entire life!”

“You’re such an optimist, Haz,” Louis groans, knocking his shoulder with his own.

“I prefer dreamer,” Harry smirks. “It makes me sound creative and mystical. That’s what my mum always called me.”

“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world,” Louis quotes.

It never ceases to amaze Harry, how Louis can just pull out quotes and facts like a walking, talking encyclopedia. He’d be an amazing teacher, Harry thinks. And father, even if he doesn’t see the potential in himself. 

“I don’t like that much,” Harry tells him. “It sounds depressing.”

“It’s Oscar Wilde,” Louis replies. “So it probably was a little depressing. The man had a rough go of it. But I think you can make it mean what you want it to mean. You see the world half lit, under the moonlight, with only the best parts highlighted. And it’s hard to rationalize the dawn with the moonlight, once you see everything illuminated. All the bad parts come to life, too. But it’s both a punishment and a reward, yeah? Cause you already saw everything good, so you’re more equipped to deal with the bad.”

“I like that,” Harry smiles, taking in Louis’ explanation. “But when you start getting philosophical, it means it’s late. Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

He shakes the blankets off them and stands, grabbing Louis’ hand and pulling him up.

“I love you, Lou,” Harry whispers when they’re back in bed, warm and cozy.

“I love you too, Harry. Thanks for finding me,” Louis whispers back. “Happy Christmas.”

Harry shuts his eyes and drifts to sleep, but not without thinking this has to be the best and most odd Christmas he’s experienced, and he’s only three hours in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis spend their first Christmas together. It's complicated.

“Wake up, Haz, come on!” Harry hears Louis yelling a few hours later.

“Umph,” he mumbles, making sleepy, illegible noises while he rearranges himself. 

“Harold, I did not spend my precious time wrapping presents and listening to bloody Christmas music for you to sleep in all morning. You’re getting up. Now,” Louis commands, yanking the covers off the bed.

“You love Christmas music,” Harry mumbles, completely disregarding Louis as he smushes his face into his pillow.

“No, you love Christmas music. I tolerate it because I love you and because that damn Paul McCartney one gets stuck in my head like no other. Now get up!” Louis yells, tugging on Harry’s foot.

“Ugh, Lou, I swear to God you’re worse than a child,” Harry gripes, rubbing his eyes to wake himself up.

‘Yeah, well you’re getting some good practice in then,” Louis quips. “Once we have a baby you’re not sleeping in on Christmas for a solid thirteen years, I’d say. More than that if they have a younger sibling.”

“And when that day comes I’ll happily wake up and open presents with them and probably take tons of video and photos that we’ll never actually watch or look at,” Harry replies calmly, ignoring the little rush of excitement he gets whenever Louis mentions kids. “But today, on our first Christmas as an actual married couple, I’d like to spend my morning in bed. With my husband. That would be a real gift. I feel like I rarely get mornings with you.”

“Another morning, Haz,” Louis tells him. “It’s our first Christmas as a married couple and I’d like to spend it giving my husband the gifts I picked out for him before we have to make our way to both our family’s homes.” 

Harry just blinks at him.

“Honestly, Harry, you would think you don’t care about presents or anything that actually makes the holidays fun and jolly and all that,” Louis sighs, exasperated.

“I’m up, I’m up!” Harry exclaims, jumping out of bed. “Presents! Let’s go!”

Louis eyes him warily. “Two minutes ago you were bemoaning ever leaving our bed and now you’re hopping around like a bunny? Having mood swings, Harry?”

Harry leans forward and kisses Louis on the tip of his nose.

“Nope. I just realized that we have a lot to do today and we should get started. By giving each other gifts. Happy Christmas, babe.” And he turns and walks out of the room towards their tiny Christmas tree.

Louis looks at his retreating figure, not entirely sure why Harry switched from sleepy to excited like a machine. But he’s not going to question it when there are gifts for him to give and receive.

Harry’s sitting on the floor besides their tree and the small pile of gifts underneath, already sorting them into his and Louis’. He would never tell Louis, doesn’t want him to feel patronized or anxious, but he just realized the enormity of the day ahead of them. Not only is it their first holiday as husbands, but it’s also the day Louis spends a holiday with his estranged family, and if gifts is what it takes to keep Louis happy and excited, Harry will wrap up everything he owns to give to him with a big shiny bow on top. 

“This is the tree Charlie Brown picked,” Louis comments, not for the first time, looking at the pine needles littering their floor. Louis wanted to buy a medium-sized fake tree, one they could drag out every year without having to lug a tree from a lot to their home and maintain. Harry, however, was having none of that. He insisted on a real tree and watered it every morning, much like his former plants. He didn’t even let Louis pick a fully-grown, normal tree, seeing their small, scrawny tree and falling in love with it.

“We can’t let it sit here, Lou, no one will pick him and he’ll be neglected!” Harry had whined as they stood in the tree lot. 

“Fine,” Louis had stated simply, not even bothering to argue. He knew that once Harry assigned the tree a gender and feelings, it was coming home with them. And that’s why they’re sitting on the floor surrounded by sparse branches, fallen ornaments, and needles. 

“And look how well it turned out for Charlie Brown,” Harry returned with a grin. He loved their tree. It has character. 

“Yeah, yeah, Linus. Open your gift,” Louis says, passing him a slender box.

Harry opens the small box to see a few packets of seeds. 

“I know you miss gardening, and I figured I’d help you get back to it,” Louis explains. “I specifically looked up which plants thrive in cold weather so you can keep these all winter, and then replant for the summer. I don’t know, it’s dumb, but I just thought you might like it,” he adds on.

“It’s not dumb, Lou. I love it. Thank you,” Harry replies, heart filling with warmth. He loves how thoughtful Louis is, how he notices things and makes notes of them for later. 

They exchange a few more gifts, small things like scarves, rings, and a metal, reusable water bottle for Harry, who worries about things like drinking chemicals from plastic and harming for the environment. Harry bought Louis a new beanie and pajamas, saving his best gift for last. 

Louis gives Harry his last gift, a secondhand copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. “I just thought you might like this,” Louis said by way of explanation. “I always loved this book, and I don’t know, I just thought you would. It kind of makes me think of you.”

Harry furrows his brow, making what Louis affectionately refers to as his frog face. “You think of me when you read a classic story about…hedonism and greed?” Harry questions, scanning the back of the book.

“No, because I always loved Oscar Wilde. He was, like, the most inspirational person ever to me when I was younger. When I read this years ago I thought the line ‘The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history,’ was the most beautiful thing I’d ever read, like it was meant to be said to someone who’s beautiful and brilliant and just everything good in the world. Like you,” Louis gets out, looking at the floor shyly. “I don’t know, maybe you’ll hate it and think it’s horrible and that’s fine. But when I saw this old copy in the store I felt like I had to buy it for you. That’s it,” he mumbles, embarrassed. 

“Lou,” Harry commands gently, forcing Louis to look at him. “That’s the best reasoning behind a gift I’ve ever received. I love how thoughtful you are, it’s my favorite thing about you. I can’t wait to read it. I bet the plants will love it too,” he jokes, although he really will read it to the plants. Louis knew that when he bought it for him. 

“Yeah, well that’s enough sappiness on my end,” Louis says. “Are we done?”

“No,” Harry tells him. “I have one more thing for you. I’ve been saving it for last,” he announces, pulling out a thin envelope and handing it to Louis.

Louis opens the envelope, studying the printed pieces of paper inside, a confused look on his face. 

“You can’t be serious, Harry. This is way too much,” Louis looks at Harry in disbelief.

“You said you wanted to travel, Lou. Now’s the time to start. Niall already agreed to cover for you for the week, and I have no shoots scheduled and someone can substitute my classes.”

“But, Harry, come on. This is…incredible. Thank you. But, like it’s a lot. I can’t ask you to spend this much on me.”

“You didn’t ask, Lou. I bought it for you because I wanted to. And it’s a vacation for me, too, so it wasn’t even that selfless of me,” he grins cheekily, daring Louis to argue with him. “We’re going, and we’re going to have a wonderful vacation. And I mean, I didn’t ask, but is this one of the places you wanted to go? It seems like somewhere you would like.”

“It’s New Orleans, Harry, of course I want to go there. It’s absolutely perfect,” Louis assures him, smiling. It’s the first time Harry’s gotten a real reaction out of him for a present. Harry can read Louis well enough to tell when he likes a gift or not, but he’s not one to get excited or emotional over a present. He gets more excited to give them, in all honesty. 

“You spoiled me, Harry. I feel so inadequate now,” Louis comments as they pick up the wrapping paper littering their hardwood floors.   
“Louis, I couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas morning,” Harry tells him. “Everything you bought me was wonderful. I can’t wait to start planting,” he assures Louis eagerly.

“I love you,” Louis replies, leaning over to kiss Harry. “Happy first Christmas together.”

“Happy first Christmas together,” Harry replies. “The first of many.”

They get dressed and grab the gifts for Harry’s family that they went shopping for a few weeks ago, Harry taking hours to choose a gift while Louis searched for the most ridiculous items in the store, for the sole purpose that Harry looks pretty cute when he’s annoyed. Plus he was bored after Harry asked him his opinion on the same scarf three different times.

Harry decided for them that they were going to Louis’ mum’s house first, knowing that if they went to see his family first Louis would be anxious all day. He called his mother after he spoke to Jay yesterday, already knowing that Louis would decide they needed to go. 

They drive in silence for a while before Harry decided to speak up. “Are you nervous?”

“Not exactly nervous, I guess,” Louis replies. “More like ready to get it over with.”

“I really don’t think it’ll be that bad, Lou. You haven’t seen your family in a long time, not since the wedding and not for a while before that. They probably just miss you. I know your mum does.”

“I’m not really concerned about my mum,” Louis says. “It’s my sisters that I’m thinking about. When I left for school they were all young, and now they’re grown, like. Adults. Or little adults. I don’t even think the twins know who I am, really. I’m like a second cousin or some stranger like that. And Lottie has given me nothing but dirty looks for the past few years. I ruined it, Harry. I fucked up with my sisters a lot. And I missed them growing up and there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing.”

Harry says nothing, can hear the upset in Louis’ voice. He knows Louis’ family is a sensitive issue for him, even if he was never entirely sure of the reason why. All he knows is that Louis cut himself off a bit, and never reconnected. But Louis is strong, and he loves his family a lot, even if he hasn’t said it lately. Harry remains quiet, knows nothing he can say will help at the moment, so he just drives as Louis looks out the window. But when Louis’ hand creeps across the center console to grab his a few minutes later, he clutches his hand and holds on tight. 

Harry can feel Louis’ hand shaking as they walk up to his mother’s front door. He glances over at Louis as they stand in front of it, waiting for Louis to knock. He looks both younger and older, Harry thinks, the worry making him seem small but causing his facial features to look older. They’re still standing there when the door swings open, and Louis’ mum stands before them, looking at the both of them.

“Louis,” she breathes, reaching forward and grabbing him into a hug. Louis wraps his arms around her, hugging back, and Harry knows everything will be fine.

Louis runs Harry through introductions again, because Harry’s really only met his family twice. But he remembers. The twins are happy enough to see both Louis and Harry, albeit a little disinterested. But they’re young teenagers, Harry knows, and it’s in their nature to be slightly detached. Fizzy is as friendly as can be, wrapping both Harry and Louis in tight hugs and telling Louis how much she’s missed him. Louis’ shoulders loosen a bit after that, but it’s Lottie who he has the most trouble with.

Lottie is friendly enough, mutters a “hello” to Harry, but barely glances at Louis, uttering a quiet “hey” and turning her head from them. At twenty-one Lottie is beautiful and adult, so different than the happy teenager Louis remembered her to be. But in this case, Louis has to take it one step at a time. His mother hasn’t stopped talking since they’ve arrived, offering food and drinks, inquiring about their morning and Louis’ birthday yesterday. It’s all very pleasant, although a little much to take in within the first few minutes. 

It’s when Jay pulls out presents for Harry and Louis that things take a turn for the worse. Louis tells them thank you for his jumpers and books, feeling rather pleased with how non-awkward things are, when Lottie speaks her mind. 

“I would’ve gotten you something, Lou, but I’m not sure what you would have liked. A cell phone, maybe, so you could never call? Or maybe a get to know you gift for Harry, since you’ve essentially brought a total stranger into our house?”

Harry’s cheeks flush, Louis looks wounded, and Jay opens her mouth in disbelief.

“Lottie, you best apologize to your brother! Right now,” Jay commands, glaring at her with eyes so similar to Louis’ when he’s angry.

“For what, mum? The truth? Sorry, I’m not about to act all happy because Louis is here, taking gifts from you when he’s been a shit son to you for years. And we all know it,” she adds on to the end, shooting Louis daggers with her eyes before getting up calmly and walking to her bedroom.

All six of them sit in silence for a few beats, Louis’ sister’s exchanging looks with each other in blatant confusion, unsure of what to do. 

“I’m so sorry-“ Jay begins, before Louis cuts her off, standing up.

“It’s fine, mum. I deserved it,” he admits. “She’s not wrong. But I’m going to go talk to her,” he tells the rest of them, following Lottie’s path up the stairs to her bedroom.

He knocks on the door twice before he walks in, sitting gingerly on the edge of Lottie’s bed. She’s on her phone, texting furiously, to whom Louis plans on finding out later. He’s always felt fiercely protective towards his sisters, whether he’s there or not. 

“Do you hate me?” He asks her quietly, as he pulls the sleeves of his knit jumper over his hands to make cozy little paws. He wishes he had a cigarette.

“No,” she concedes, begrudgingly. “You’re my brother, I don’t hate you. But I don’t really like you either.”

“Fair enough,” Louis responds. “I know this doesn’t make up for anything, but I am sorry I haven’t been around. I’ve missed you, you know.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Lottie snorts, playing with her phone in her hands. 

“I know,” Louis agrees. “I feel like such shit for it, though. All the time. I’m the worst big brother in the world.” 

“Maybe not the worst,” Lottie tells him. “But you’re near the bottom of the list, for sure. I mean, shit, Louis. You just left. You never called. You never came home. You left me all alone with the rest of them. Didn’t you even think about me?”

“I thought about you all the time, Lottie,” Louis assures her. “But uni…wasn’t the best time for me. I had no friends and I was horribly depressed. Nobody wants to be friends with the weird kid who lies in bed reading books all the time. And it just became easier and easier to convince myself that everyone was better off without me, including you.”

“Does mum know?” Lottie asks. “Does anybody know you felt like that?”

“No,” Louis admits. “Not even Harry knows how bad things really were, for a bit. It wasn’t until the end of uni that I started to get better. It helped once I lived on my own. I wasn’t so freaked out by living with a bunch of random people all the time. And I needed to be alone. I had never…felt like that before. Like I was all on my own, but in a good way. Like I finally chose it for myself, I wasn’t just ignored and overlooked. And as I started to carve out my life, like getting a job and writing and finding my own place, I started to feel better. Like I was finally doing something for me. I love you and the girls so much, Lots, but it was so hard to live here for a while. I stressed myself out inconceivably trying to make things easy for mum, happier for you and Fizz and the twins. Mum wasn’t always…present, when we were little. But you were too young to remember and I wasn’t. I remember a lot, Lottie. And I love mum, but I was kind of angry with her, too. She put a lot of responsibility on me, and for a long time I felt like she didn’t take responsibility for herself. For you. And the girls. It was hard, Lottie. I went from living here and carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders to lying in bed like a shut in for years to finally feeling a bit free. Not happy, but free. It was just…different. I liked putting myself first, for a change. But I was a dick, Lots, an absolute ass. It took me far too long to realize that I could care about myself and still look after you, too.”

Louis takes a deep breath, exhaling shakily. He’s never just laid himself out like that, put it all out there for someone to look at and judge him, honestly. But if he’s going to do that, Lottie seems like the best place to start. Louis needs her, needs all his sisters, but Lottie especially. She was his best friend for the longest time, and he can only hope she’s better than he is, a big enough person to forgive him for all the shit he’s put her through. 

Lottie puts her phone down and slides over to Louis, looking him straight in the eyes. “Don’t ever do that again, Louis. I mean it,” she commands fiercely. “I won’t forgive you twice.”

Louis laughs a little, moving to wrap his arms over. He missed her so much he doubts he’ll ever let her go again, she’ll have to grow old with him attached to her. “I won’t ever do that again, Lottie, I swear,” he promises. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I get it,” Lottie tells him. “But…you’re good now? You seem happy, Lou. Happier than I can ever remember you being. Like you smile now, you know? You don’t look so miserable all the time.”

“I’m really happy, Lots. So, so happy,” Louis assures her. “Can I tell you a secret?” He asks her, playing a game they used to when they were little. This secret is bigger than telling her he stole a chocolate bar, though.

“It better be a good one,” she replies, and Louis isn’t sure when she got so sassy, but he feels a sick sense of pride over it. 

“Would you want to be an aunt?” Louis asks, turning to look her in the eyes.

“Are you serious? You’re having a baby?” She blurts incredulously, looking at Louis with a mixture of disbelief and excitement on her face.

“Not yet,” he tells her. “It’s just something Harry and I have been talking about. He’s been wanting a baby really, really badly and I’ve been making him wait. But…I think I’m ready. Or as ready as you can ever be, I guess. I haven’t told him yet, though. Or anyone else for that matter.”

“Lou, that’s amazing,” she whispers. “I can’t believe it. You never even wanted kids before. Harry must be really special,” she comments, appreciatively.

“He is,” Louis agrees. “Special enough that he’s not going to say anything about you calling him a total stranger, even though I know it hurt his feelings,” he adds. “It’s not his fault he hasn’t been around much. I probably wouldn’t have even come today if it wasn’t for him.”

“I actually like Harry,” Lottie tells Louis. “He’s kind of…weird, I guess, but in a good way. He looks at you like you hung the damn moon,” she says, giggling. “I didn’t mean to insult him, though. I should probably apologize.”

“Something tells me he’ll forgive you,” Louis tells her. “He’s not one to hold a grudge. The first time I spoke to him I yelled at him, a lot, and now he’s married to me, so, you never know,” he jokes. “You might be his new best friend. He’s a funny one.”

“Ok,” she sighs, moving to stand. “I guess we should go join the others now. Poor Harry’s been left alone with them for a long time.”

Louis grabs her first, squeezing her tightly. “I love you, Lots. Lots and lots and lots,” he repeats, kissing her on the top of her head.

“You’re such a dork, Lou,” she snipes, wiggling out of his grasp and towards the door. “But I love you, too,” she tacks on, before going downstairs to join the others.

When Louis goes downstairs, his sisters are practicing yoga poses with Harry as his mother laughs from a chair on the side. Of fucking course. Louis rolls his eyes affectionately before he walks over to tug on Harry’s curls, knocking his sock-clad foot against Harry’s bare one. 

“Only you could do yoga in skintight black jeans and a giant white jumper,” Louis rolls his eyes again, smiling at Harry to let him know everything’s alright.

“Keep making fun of me and I’ll tell them about the time you joined me,” Harry sends back, green eyes twinkling. The girls aren’t paying attention anymore, having joined Lottie in the kitchen, probably to find out everything she and Louis just said.

“Um…Harry?” Louis asks, knowing he has to ask but feeling horrible for doing so. “Would you mind terribly if we stayed? I know we’re supposed to go to your mum’s but…” he trails off, unsure of how to explain himself. He just knows here is where he’s supposed to be.

“It’s fine, love,” Harry smiles at him, linking Louis’ fingers with his own. “I already told my mum we’d go see her next week, instead. Whenever Gem can come back so we’re all together. She understands,” he tells Louis quietly. “So do I.”

Louis feels such a rush of love for Harry, such a sense of belonging and happiness spreading through his entire body, like drinking hot chocolate when you’ve come inside from the snow. It’s the best holiday he could have asked for, optimistic Harry being right once again.

The rest of the day is relaxed and cheerful, full of jokes and old stories. Lottie starts to apologize before Harry stops her, assuring her she was completely valid in her reaction. Louis’ sisters all ask Harry question after question and he answers them happily, telling them stories in his deep, rumbling voice. Louis has never felt more in love then he has today.

When they leave later that night, Louis bends down to hug his mum tightly. 

“Don’t be a stranger, you hear?” She directs that at both Louis and Harry, but mostly Louis. 

“I won’t, mum,” he answers. “I promise. Love you.”

She hugs him back tightly, squeezing the life out of him. Louis doesn’t complain, especially when he hears the whispered “thank you” she directs over his shoulder to Harry. Harry grins back, stepping in to give Jay a hug of his own before they leave to return to their own home. 

“So…I have another present for you,” Louis announces as they turn onto the main road towards home. 

“What’s that?” Harry asks, focusing on the traffic in front of them.

“I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?” Harry asks, confused, knitting his eyebrows together.

“Ready,” Louis repeats seriously but smiling, keeping his eyes focused on Harry.

Harry pulls the car over suddenly, turning in his seat to look at Louis. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” He asks Louis slowly, skeptically, afraid Louis might tell him he’s ready to skydive or move or anything other than have a baby.

Louis just nods, can’t stop the smile that threatens to break apart his face. Tears pool into Harry’s eyes as he breaks into a smile of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't lie to you guys, I'm getting so bored of this fic. I'm actually running out of ideas for it, my mind is focused on another idea I have right now. Also, my chapters keep getting longer. Is that good or bad? Let me know what you think about it all, good, bad, or in between! Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! The most important moment is finally here! Wow this feels like it took forever, but it really didn't. I hope you like it!
> 
> PS I forgot to say it last chapter but I obviously took some liberties with Louis' family. As in he only has 4 sisters and no stepfather. It is what it is.

Harry’s panicking. A lot. It’s not that he doesn’t know labor can take a long time, it’s just that he didn’t know it could take this long. Hours and hours and hours long. And he’s really not sure why his baby doesn’t want to come out, but he’s about to pull his hair out from waiting. Louis isn’t faring much better, sitting quietly besides Harry, bouncing his leg a mile a minute. Every time Hannah moans, Louis clutches his hand and squeezes, nearly crumbling Harry’s bones to dust. But it’s ok. Harry’s not sure his grip is any better. 

“Are you sure this kid’s mine?” Harry asks Louis, trying to crack the tension in the room. “Seems he has a knack for making us wait. Like you,” he teases, nudging Louis’ foot with his own. Louis gives a halfhearted laugh and a weak smile before he stands.

“I’m going to get some air,” he tells Harry and Hannah. “I don’t think I’ll miss anything in the next ten minutes.” Harry watches him leave the room and sighs. Their son or daughter isn’t even born yet and he or she’s already a troublemaker. Maybe Louis really is the father.

Xx

“Lou? Can I talk to you about something?” Harry asks over dinner one night. Louis puts the fork full of pasta down on his plate, giving Harry his full attention.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, reading the stress in Harry’s eyes. 

“Nothing! Nothing. I’m fine. Perfect,” Harry assures him. Louis’ blue eyes had widened to saucers and his hands had clutched the table like he was afraid someone died.

“Okayyy,” he says slowly, dragging it out skeptically. “So what’s up, then?”

“Um…I just. I, um. I. Sorry! I can’t find the right way to say it,” Harry stammers in his slow, deep voice. 

“Just say it Haz, you’re making me nervous,” Louis encourages, looking at Harry with concern. It normally takes Harry ages to tell a story, but he generally doesn’t stumble over his words like he’s trying to play football. He’s really quite terrible at football.

“Ok,” Harry exhales, taking a deep breath. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking, and I think that maybe…that maybe I want to look into surrogacy? I know we’ve been talking about adoption and that’s great, I’d love to adopt, but I just feel like I want a baby who’s biologically mine. And yours. Ours. I know if we adopt we’ll love him or her the same, but…I don’t know, it’s just something I want. To be a father, not just a dad, you know? Like I always thought being gay meant I couldn’t create a child but I want to. Or I want you to. I want our son or daughter to have biological ties to us, either of us. And I know there are plenty of kids out there who need homes but, like…I just can’t help it. And I feel really horrible about it but-“

“Hey, no,” Louis tells him, looking Harry in the eyes. “You don’t have to feel bad because you want to father your child, Harry. That’s natural. Instinctual, or primal, even. If surrogacy is what you want, we can look into it. If adoption is what you want, we’ll look into adoption more. As long as you’re happy and our child is happy, then I’m happy. It’s that easy.”

It took Harry and Louis months to agree on surrogacy, with Harry as the biological father. It took even longer for Harry to pass all the necessary tests and screening requirements before he was eligible to donate sperm. And longer for them to find a willing surrogate who they both approved of and trusted to mother their unborn child for nine months. But almost two years since Louis told Harry he was ready, here they are, sitting in a hospital room for nine hours with the world’s most stubborn baby refusing to be born. 

“Hannah, do you mind terribly if I go see if Louis’ alright? I’ll be back in two minutes, I swear,” Harry promises, already standing on his feet to go after his husband. She nods tiredly before he bolts out the room in his loping, mild way. 

He catches up to Louis at the coffee machine located down the hall, where Louis is just staring blankly at the screen in front of him. 

“You see, the way it works is, you put the money in and choose the beverage you want, and the little machine magically produces coffee,” Harry jokes, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist. Louis starts before turning to glare at Harry.

“Sorry. Bit tired,” he snaps, before setting about making himself coffee, something he rarely drinks anymore unless he’s really, really tired.

“You’re alright though?” Harry asks, nuzzling his neck. “You’re doing ok?”

“I’m better than Hannah right now, at any rate,” Louis comments, grabbing his coffee and adding sugar. “I’m just starting to get worried he-

“Or she,” Harry cuts in, shooting Louis a look. They both decided they didn’t want to know the sex of their baby, but Louis insists it’s a boy, claiming he just knows. Harry won’t admit it, but he has a feeling Louis’s right. He has a weird way of guessing things like that. But still. He doesn’t want to take any chances.

“Or she,” Louis corrects himself, mentally hitting himself for the millionth time over the same mistake. “I just…why doesn’t he or she want to come out, Haz? It’s been nine hours. Nine. That’s a long time. And every time Hannah moans I want to yell with her.”

“I know, love,” Harry soothes. It’s not as though he’s also not tired and impatient. When his phone started ringing at quarter past five in the morning, he just knew it was time. Louis did, too. He was already out of bed and dressed before Harry got off the phone. And since then, all they’ve done is wait. And wait some more. Both of their mother’s came by and left, but promised to come back later with food for the both of them. And they’ve been getting texts from Niall, Liam, and Zayn all day, as well as their sisters. How is it only noon? Harry feels like he’s been in this hospital for ten years.

“It’ll happen though. And soon enough we’ll be up all night with a crying baby who tears through diapers and throws up on all our clothes,” he says with a thin attempt at humor.

“It’ll be worth it, though,” Louis smiles. They walk back into Hannah’s room to wait some more. 

Xx

“Louis, you realize you have no way of actually knowing whether it’s a boy or girl, yeah?” Harry reminds him as they walk through the store, trying to do some shopping for the nursery. 

“I know, Harry, but it’s a boy. I swear it’s a boy,” Louis argues as he fingers the onesie with the football on the front. “And I think our boy will really like this.”

“First of all,” Harry huffs, because really. He’s said this a million times. “Part of the reason we don’t know whether it’s a boy or girl is because we don’t want to buy clothing or nursery décor that convinces our child he or she has to conform to gender stereotypes. Like a boy who has to play sports.”

Louis knows Harry really, truly believes this. It’s part of the reason he’ll be a fantastic dad. He also knows just which buttons to push to make Harry annoyed. So he can’t help it if he laughs, just a little bit.

“Second of all,” Harry continues. “We’re not here for clothes today. We need to decide on a nursery theme and buy a crib and a chair and pretty much everything essential to our little human’s survival.”

Impending fatherhood has really brought out new aspects of Harry’s personality, mainly organization and bossiness, two qualities he’s never been known to possess before. Luckily for both him and Louis, it looks really cute on Harry. And with it comes a fierce protectiveness and love, even if their baby is only six months at this point. However, it’s also bringing out Harry’s stubbornness. The amount of times they’ve argued over a freaking paint color for the nursery is absurdly high, before they agreed to call it quits and hope they see something in the store that inspires them. 

Harry wanted a theme for the nursery, something bright and cheery and colorful. And extremely over the top. He was honestly considering painting the walls and ceiling like a circus tent and recruiting Zayn to paint an animal mural on the wall. Louis really just wanted it to have paint and a cot, something soft and soothing. He knows they can’t really paint the nursery black or anything, but honestly, who decided all babies love pastels? It’s been a long-running debate.

Harry’s sorting through paint colors and Louis’ only convinced him to buy one unnecessary item so far, a little monkey onesie with a hood and paws that Harry is already imagining dressing their baby in for Halloween with a banana as a prop. It’ll be the cutest thing. Louis is just walking around, looking at all the items surrounding them, when he spots a patchwork red, white, and blue quilt with a sailboat on it. It’s not too girly or masculine, and Louis’ always had a secret love for all things sailor. It’s perfect.

“Hey, Harry?”

“I swear to God Louis, if you throw one more stuffed animal at me I’m going to kill you,” Harry mumbles, as he seems to be debating between shades of yellow. Louis’ always hated yellow.

“No. Stop looking at the yellow, please. I think I’ve had an idea.”

Harry reluctantly puts down his paint samples and looks at Louis. “You had an idea based on a blanket?”

“Yes, snarky. Look at this. What do you think?”

Harry sighs. “It’s cute, Lou, but unless we decide on a wall color then-“

“I think we should do a nautical theme. Think about it. It can be red, white, and blue and have sailboats and anchors and quilts. It could be fun. It’s quite different, I think. Everyone paints animals or trees in their nurseries. Or they do yellow,” he adds pointedly, looking at the paint samples next to Harry’s hand, still open to the yellows.

Harry thinks for a minute, looking at the quilts in Louis’ hands. He slowly smiles. “I like it. It’s perfect.”

And that’s how Louis and Harry leave the store with a white cot, the quilt, and a quilted blue and white polka dot mobile with striped stars and bedding and a changing table to match. Plus every single item printed with a sailboat, anchor, or whale. And a small teddy bear, because as Louis argued, “it’s a classic.”

Louis and Harry spend their next weekend painting their spare room a soft sandy color and moving in all the furniture they bought, which has grown to include a red rocking chair and a white chest of drawers and bookshelf, which Louis insisted upon. Harry’s filming Louis while Louis attempts to build the cot and assemble the bookshelf, getting angrier each time he’s confused by the directions.

“I give up,” he wails, tossing the screwdriver across the room. 

“If you’re watching this baby, your father is terribly impatient when it comes to building things. If you ever need help with carpentry, I think I’m the better bet.”

“More like you’ll film him or her being helpless and irritated,” Louis mutters. Harry chuckles and Louis shoots him and the camera a dirty look. 

“Give me the damn camera,” Louis growls as Harry continues to laugh, his shoulders shaking nonstop.

“No,” Harry laughs, as Louis runs towards him with his hand outstretched. When they’re both lying on the floor, laughing in a heap of tangled arms and legs, Louis grabs the camera and holds it above his head.

“If you’re watching this baby, I just tackled your dad because he’s an insufferable git (‘Hey! ‘Harry cries in the back) who likes to laugh at my misery. I hope you’re not sleeping in my sock drawer because we couldn’t build you a proper bed,” he sniffs. 

“I hope you don’t inherit your dad’s dramatic streak!” Harry yells from the background, where he’s now sitting up and studying the directions that came with the cot. 

“That’s a lie, baby,” Louis says to the camera. “He loves my dramatic streak.”

“I do,” Harry smiles at the camera. “And I love you, baby.”

“We both do,” Louis tells the camera. “More than anything.” And then he sets the camera down and crawls over to help Harry figure out how to assemble the damn cot. 

In the end, Liam has to build the cot for them, much to Louis’ displeasure and Zayn’s glee. But it’s built and sturdy and that’s what matters.

Xx

It’s hour eleven and Harry’s about to go insane. Hannah is only halfway there, still, and he’s barely touched the sandwich his mum brought him. Louis is trying to convince him to nap, swearing to wake him up if there’s even the smallest development, but that’ll happen when pigs fly. It’s only when Zayn and Liam stop by that Harry takes a break from chewing his nails and twiddling his rings, sighing and glancing at the clock every other minute. He’s beginning to stress Hannah out, Louis can tell, and he had to get creative. He’s impatient, too, but he’s managed to calm himself down slightly while Harry’s only getting more and more worked up, and there’s nothing more Louis could do to help him. So he texted in reinforcements.

“Still going, huh?” Zayn addresses Hannah as he walks into the room, Liam behind him. Isla’s still in school. 

“I’m about to lose my fucking mind,” Harry mutters, hanging his head in his hands. Liam looks at Louis, then looks back to Harry.

“Hey man, why don’t we take a walk? Louis and Zayn can hold down the fort for a little and I think you need a break from this room,” Liam asks Harry. Louis prods Harry on the shoulder, encouraging him to go, before Harry stands.

“Yeah, alright,” he agrees, joining Liam to walk out the room. They’re gone for a solid twenty minutes while Louis and Zayn chat amongst themselves and Hannah, getting her ice chips and holding her hand during contractions. Isla’s doing wonderfully, Zayn tells him, becoming more and more of an individual each day. She loves to draw, like Zayn, but she’s as curious and sensitive as Liam. Louis loves Isla, loves to hear how she is, but right now he’s so impatient for his own baby that the thought of a child who’s old enough to draw and talk seems like it’s a lifetime away.

Zayn, always good at reading the mood, senses enough to change the subject to tattoos, and they discuss his newest designs until Harry and Liam join them again, Harry looking much less anxious. His shoulders are less tense, his skin isn’t as pale, and he’s actually able to sit still. The two stay until they need to pick Isla up from school. Louis gets up to walk them out, first saying goodbye to Zayn, then turning to Liam. He hugs him, actually reaches out and hugs Liam, whispering a thank you in his ear. Liam assures him it was no problem, tells him he’s happy to help in any way possible. And Louis can sense it, knows the tension between him and Liam is gone, that he can’t dislike his husband’s childhood best friend who dropped everything to help calm Harry down. Maybe Liam is more kind than Louis thought, and really was just being protective all those years ago. It doesn’t matter. That seems like an entire millennium ago by now.

Xx

“Love, have you thought about names at all?” Harry asks as him and Louis are lying in bed, Louis reading while Harry half pays attention to some late night television show.

“Um…kind of, but they’re stupid,” Louis responds, sliding a used rail card into his book to hold the page. Louis can’t fold the pages in books, absolutely can’t stand ruining a new, crisp novel like that. 

“I doubt they’re stupid,” Harry drawls. “Not more stupid than mine, in any case.”

“Yours are stupid,” Louis agrees. “Naming plants after goddesses is well and good but I think our baby would have a bit of a superiority complex if we did that.”

“I still like Hera,” Harry mutters petulantly. “But I see your point. I want a unique name, though. Something different. But not too different. We don’t need to like, name him or her after a fruit or something,” he explains. “Just a bit…special. Like he or she will be.”

“I kind of like literary names,” Louis suggests. “I know it’s stupid, but I dunno. I just kind of like them.”

“Louis, I swear, if you suggest we name our child Ernest I’m leaving you.”

“No, you goofball, something cool. Not after Hemingway. Something like…Beckett.”

“Beckett?” Harry asks.

“Yeah. Like Samuel Beckett, the Irish playwright. He wrote Waiting for Godot. I always thought it was a cool name, and you could shorten it to Beck. Like I thought when I was younger that if I had a son, that’s what I’d name him. But it’s silly, I know.”

“Beckett,” Harry repeats. “I like it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Beckett something Tomlinson. Has a nice ring to it.”

Louis shifts on his side, looking over at Harry. “Tomlinson?”

“Well, yeah. It’d only make sense if you and I and the baby all had the same last name, right? Like a family?” Harry smiles, looking at Louis across the pillows.

“You’re changing your last name?” Louis questions excitedly. “I thought you wanted to hyphen.”

“Well, hyphenating sounds good in theory,” Harry singsongs, teasingly. “But Styles-Tomlinson is a mouthful, isn’t it? For me, not just a kid. Besides, I’ve been a Styles for twenty-eight years, that’s long enough. I’d much rather be a Tomlinson now.”

Louis smiles and kisses Harry, still smiling, teeth hitting teeth and it’s messy, but sweet. “Welcome to the family, Harry Tomlinson.”

Xx

“Louis, has a doctor even come by recently to look at her? I mean, what if something’s wrong? It’s been so long.”

“I know, love, I know. He was just by a half hour ago, remember? Said things were going slowly, but surely. We’re almost there, Haz. Just a little bit longer,” Louis tries to comfort Harry, running his hand through Harry’s curls. 

Hannah is exhausted, having been in labor for fifteen hours. She had an epidural, but fifteen hours of doing anything is exhausting, let alone trying to move another human out of your body. Her blonde hair is a tangled mess, and her skin is sweaty. Everyone in this room is more than ready for delivery. Everyone except for Beckett or Calliope Tomlinson, who’s taking their sweet time making their way down. 

Louis had decided on Beckett so it was only fair Harry picked a girl name, but he also kept it literary. Calliope is the goddess of poetry. Louis rolled his eyes when he first heard it, but he couldn’t deny that he liked it, at least a little. Their baby has a name to live up to, that’s for sure. 

“Thank God we don’t have a Janice,” Louis mutters, his mind going a little loopy after fifteen straight hours spent inside a hospital.

“What’s that?” Harry asks, not lifting his head from where it rests on Louis’ shoulder.

“Like the Friends episode, remember? When Rachel was in labor for like, I don’t know, five women who came into her room and left, and one of them was Janice?”

Harry doesn’t say anything, so Louis continues babbling. He’s not a big talker, but get him tired or stuck in a space with nothing to do and he’ll say whatever comes into his mind.

“Remember how she said ‘Oh My God’ all the time? And Christ, it was the most annoying sound on the planet. Chandler was a saint for ever dating her,” Louis continues.

“Chandler was a jerk who kept dumping her and bringing her back,” Harry argues, waking up a little.

“No, Janice cheated on him and then when she came back he said he was going to Yemen to get away from her, remember? She was crazy,” Louis counters.

“Yeah, but. You know what? Nevermind. We’re not going to kill time waiting for our son or daughter to be born by arguing over secondary Friends characters,” Harry stops himself from continuing. A tired Louis is silly, a tired Harry is grumpy. And serious.

“Whatever, Ross,” Louis mutters. Sue him for trying to do anything other then wait tensely. 

Xx

Louis decided to tell his mum in person. They had just returned from their trip to New Orleans, tan and happy and love-drunk. Louis had fallen in love with the history, the factual and paranormal aspects of it, and the food. My god, the food. He could eat nothing but beignets for the rest of his life and be content, fat and dusted in powdered sugar. Harry had loved the architecture and the nightlife, dragging Louis around to place after place night and day, camera always in hand. But it was the best trip they had ever been on. Louis made Harry promise that they would vacation together at least once more before the baby, whether it was a small weekend trip to France or a two week long trip to Asia. Harry happily obliged.

Louis was keeping good on his promises, passing his exams for teaching certification and making an effort to go home or at least call his mum and sister’s often. Him and Harry were sitting around his mum’s kitchen table, drinking tea, when Louis decided to drop the bomb. The girls were scattered around the house, so he had Jay’s attention all to himself.

“So…mum.” Louis had begun, not quite sure how to say it.

“Louis?” She had returned, raising an eyebrow. “Everything alright, love?”

“More than alright,” Louis had grinned, grabbing Harry’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “Because…you’re going to be a grandmother.” Louis and Harry both had ridiculous smiles on their face while Jay burst into happy tears, getting up to hug the both of them. Louis’ sisters had all screamed excitedly, already yelling about being godmother and babysitting. They all seemed a little disappointed when Harry and Louis told them nothing was happening yet, they were just working towards it, but it gave them another reason to scream and shout when they could finally announce they had a surrogate.

Harry’s family had reacted much the same way. Anne cried as well, but they were tears of joy, as she kept repeating. Gemma had offered her help in any way necessary, which Harry and Louis tried not to take advantage of too much. And Harry’s father had just clapped him on the back in congratulations. 

Since they officially found out they were having a baby, Jay and Louis had grown very close again, giving them a lot to talk about. Harry will never be thankful enough for how reassuring she was throughout every step in the process. With a baby on the way and a rekindled relationship with his mum, Louis had never seemed happier, like his entire life had come together. Harry could literally see how happy he was, contentment radiating off him like sunbeams. He was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen.

Things only continued to look up when Louis was finally offered a teaching position. It was right after his thirtieth birthday, right before they were told Hannah was pregnant, when a teacher at their local primary school had fallen ill and they needed a replacement for the rest of the year, starting right after the holidays. Louis had said yes instantly, before driving himself mad for the next week trying to create lesson plans and homework assignments. His first year of teaching had gone well enough. He knew he was entering into an odd situation, with half the year having already been taught, but the students seemed to like him well enough and he got on with a few of his coworkers. However, there was one person very unhappy with Louis’ new job.

“Are you fucking serious, mate? You’re ditching me?” Niall had reacted when Louis told him the news. 

“Hey!” Eleanor had yelled from the next room. “No swearing in front of the baby!”

“I’ll stop swearing when everyone stops leaving me!” Niall bellowed dramatically. He was feeding Regan in her high chair, and now he had accidentally scattered Cheerios everywhere. Regan still looked just like Niall, with playful blue eyes and a permanent smile on her face. She was the happiest baby Louis had ever seen, laughing at the mess Niall made on the floor.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Niall,” Louis sighed. “I’m sure I’ll still see you all the time. Plus, I’ll need a job during the summer, so don’t be too surprised if I come back.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall sighed. “Whatever. First El, now you. Do you want me to be miserable?”

“Well, no,” Louis countered. “That’s why I suggested you take over my job, which comes with a pay raise if I remember correctly. Managing is a lot better than just being a barista, Niall.”

Niall grinned. “Can’t stay mad at you forever then, can I, Tommo?” He grabbed Louis in a one-armed hug before he said, “But seriously, dude. Congrats.”

Louis didn’t think it was possible for life to get any better.

Xx

“Seventeen hours, Haz. We have been sitting in this room for seventeen hours.”

Harry looked a mess, eyes bloodshot, curls disheveled. Whatever Liam had said to him helped, but he was still slowly losing his mind in this room.

“You know, I bet our baby’s an evil genius,” Louis continued, his voice weak but sarcastic.

“Hmm?” Harry acknowledged, too tired to pay much attention.

“Our child’s an evil mastermind,” Louis said. “This is their plan. To get us so exhausted and out of it before they’re even born that once they deign to gift us with their existence, we’ll be too tired to even care. So that way they can get away with murder. Evil but smart, I tell you.”

“You know you sound crazy, right?” Harry asked as Hannah snorted in her bed. “Like that’s actually insane.”

“Well, I’ve had nothing to do for seventeen hours except sit here with my thoughts. Don’t mind me for getting a little loopy,” Louis muttered angrily. “I’m not even nervous anymore, I just want our damn child to decide he’s ready to be born.”

“Or she.”

“Harry, I swear to God.”

Harry snorted quietly. “Are you really not nervous? I feel like I could bounce off the walls.”

“Nope. Not nervous at all.”

“How is that even possible? You were nervous for like an entire year while I was the collected one,” he pointed out with a bit of jealousy.

It’s true. As soon as they found Hannah and things were really starting to happen, Louis’ nerves went haywire. He couldn’t sleep, was stressed all the time. He was as happy as could be, but he couldn’t stop all of his doubts from creeping in.

“What if I’m a bad father, Haz? I never even had a father. And what if our baby is sick or something? Or what if they hate me? I never really was much of a kid person, Harry.”

“Ok, first of all, you’re going to be a great dad. I wouldn’t even have kids with you if I thought it was remotely possible for you to be a poor father. You’re smart, you’re caring, and you’re protective of the ones you love. What about that sounds like a bad father? And yeah, your dad was shit, but he didn’t have any influence on you growing up. You’re not who you are because of him. He wasn’t around to influence you. So why would he affect your parenting skills?”

Louis just blinked while Harry took a deep breath. “Second, if God forbid our baby is sick or disabled or anything of the sort, we’ll deal with it. We will. Nothing could make us love our baby any less, I guarantee it. And the universe doesn’t give you anything you can’t handle, right?”

Louis didn’t respond. He never bought into Harry’s blind faith and trust in other people and the world in general, but he does admire it. Harry truly believes everything will work out for the best, always. It’s worked for him so far.

“As for not being a kid person, I can’t agree with you on that, Lou. You might not love kids when they’re screaming in Tesco or crying in a restaurant, but you like kids. You love Regan. You love Isla. And I know you love your sisters, and from what you and your mum have told me, you played a big part in raising them. And they all turned out wonderfully. Not to mention, Lou, but you’re really just not a people person in general, kid or adult. So you might not like kids in general, just like you don’t love people in general, but you’ll love our kid, because it’ll be yours. Just like you love me, because I’m yours. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis smiled. “You know, you’re going to be a great dad, too. Definitely the one he or she goes to for advice. You’re like a wise…owl.”

“Owl?”

“Yeah, you know! Owls are like, wise and observant and all that. Sounds just like you.” 

“Have you ever realized you always compare me to animals? First a frog, now an owl.”

“Sorry,” Louis apologizes, not really meaning it. “But if the shoe fits.”

That was seven months ago, and Louis had tried less to panic, he really did. But somehow it took until labor actually begun that Louis felt cool and collected while Harry stresses in the chair next to him.

“So. What did Liam say to you anyway?” Louis asks.

“Oh. You know. The usual. Told me that all good things are worth waiting for and that everything would be fine. Said we were going to make the best parents, you and I. Well, after him and Zayn. But close.”

“It’s true,” Louis agreed. “Not the part about him and Zayn, we’ll blow them out of the water. But the rest of it. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I hope so,” Harry mumbles.

“Hey,” Louis says, bringing his hand to Harry’s cheek. “Harry, look at me.”

Harry brings his head up to meet Louis, his green eyes looking right into Louis’ blue. “Everything’s going to be fine. Perfect. And waiting sucks, there’s no way around it, but we’re going to be just fine. Better then fine. We’ll finally have our baby, yeah? All of the planning and the shopping and building that damn cot is going to be worth it. Completely, totally worth it.”

Xx

It’s hour nineteen, and Harry and Louis are finally holding their son in their arms. Beckett Logan Tomlinson was delivered eighteen and a half hours after labor began, making everyone wait for him like the perfect being that he is. His delivery was easy enough; no complications, and Hannah crushed one of Louis’ hands while Harry gripped the other, tears already streaming down his face.

The doctor wrapped him in a blanket and handed him to Louis, and Louis’ entire world stopped. He couldn’t focus on anything else, not the click of Harry’s camera as he looked into his son’s face (he totally knew it was a boy) or the bustle of people inside the hospital room, just Beckett’s face and eyes and the little wisp of dark hair on top of his tiny head. He didn’t even realize he was crying until he saw the tears fall onto Beckett’s blanket, couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to.

Harry’s impatient, so, so impatient to hold his son, but he can’t help fall in love with Louis all over again as he watches him study their son’s face, memorizing every perfect feature. He takes photo after photo, capturing the perfect image of Louis staring at Beckett with a tear running down his face and a huge smile, and if he decides to frame it and put it in every single room in their apartment, that’s his prerogative. 

Louis reluctantly passes Beckett over to Harry, kisses Hannah on the cheek, and pulls out his phone to call his mum. Before long the small hospital room will be full of people, his mum and sisters and Harry’s family, but for now he’s happy that it’s just their own little, perfect family. He thought he was happy before, but he’s been catapulted into a new realm of happiness that he didn’t even think was possible. It was all worth it. Absolutely, one hundred percent worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's going to be one or two more chapters. Not sure yet. Thoughts?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The baby won't stop crying and Louis loses it a little.

“Kid, if you sleep for more than three hours tonight, I’ll do literally anything you want in the entire world. I’ll sing lullabies for ten straight hours. I’ll let you eat rubbish cereal every single morning once you grow some teeth. I’ll learn to fly and get you a private jet to take around the world if you just stop screaming for a couple hours. I swear.”

“That’s a pretty sweet deal Beck, you should take him up on that,” Harry says to their screaming son as Louis jumps, unaware that Harry was listening to him bribe their three week old. 

“Jesus Haz, you scared the sh-“

“Not in front of the baby!”

“I don’t think he could hear me over his screams anyway,” Louis grumbles. And he’s not angry at Beckett or anything, not at all. He’s just a little grumpy since he hasn’t slept more than two hours at a time in over three weeks. And his heart wants to break, along with his brain, every time he hears his son scream. Which is always. All the time. Nonstop. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to give him to me?” Harry asks gently, already knowing the answer.

“He’s my son, too” Louis replies, trying to bounce Beckett a little as he cries, his tiny face scrunched in agony, red and angry.

“I know, but you’ve been up with him all morning and I think it would be good if you had a break,” Harry encourages softly, trying to prevent Louis from having the panic attack he knows is hiding just underneath the surface, ready to break out if Louis doesn’t relax and get some sleep.

“Our son hates me, Haz!” Louis wails, trying not to scream along with Beckett. But it’s hard, it really is.

“He doesn’t hate you, Lou. You know what the doctor said. He’s just fussy and colicky, and it’s a bad combination. But it won’t be forever.”

“He sleeps for you, though,” Louis argues petulantly. 

“You and I both know that’s not true. He doesn’t sleep for either of us. He just screams until he wears himself out. Which just so happens to be when I’m holding him.”

“Semantics,” Louis mutters. He tries rocking Beckett in vain, knowing it’s not going to do any good.

“Please, Lou,” Harry begs. “Please just go lie down. For an hour, at least. You’re exhausted. You need to sleep.”

“You’re exhausted, too,” Louis replies, taking in Harry’s messy hair that’s tied back in a tiny bun and the bags under his green eyes.

“Yeah, but I have a husband who let me stay in bed last night and this morning while he tried to feed and soothe our screaming baby,” Harry counters. “And now he’s being too stubborn to let me do the same for him. “

Louis glares.

“You know, Beck’s not the only baby in this room right now,” Harry singsongs, teasingly. “Now I know where he gets his refusal to sleep from.”

That does the trick. 

“Fine,” Louis gives in. “Have fun, baby whisperer,” he huffs sarcastically, passing Beckett over to Harry.

“Bed. Now,” Harry commands, cradling Beckett in his arms and making little cooing noises to him.

Louis stumbles over his feet as he turns to leave, stopping to kiss Beckett’s forehead before he trips his way out the door and onto his and Harry’s bed, where he collapses face down on top of the covers. He pretends to not wake up when he feels Harry lie down next to him a half hour later, Beckett asleep in the next room.

Louis wakes up five hours later, feeling disoriented and fuzzy, not used to sleeping in longer doses anymore. He pads barefoot down the hall towards the nursery, where he can hear Harry speaking softly. 

“You’ve got to fall asleep for your daddy next, yeah? He’s a really good dad and he’s feeling kind of sad that you’re screaming whenever he holds you, but you don’t mean it, do you? You’re just new to the world and your tummy hurts, right? Poor baby,” Harry’s whispering, holding Beckett as he slowly glides in his rocking chair. Beckett’s awake but miraculously not screaming, just making snuffly little baby noises as he’s being rocked back and forth.

“You’re up,” Harry remarks, looking at Louis shuffle into the room. He’s not quite awake, rapidly blinking his squinty, just-woke-up eyes, greasy hair sticking up adorably. He stretches, white t shirt rising over his sweatpants to show a sliver of tan stomach.

“I’m up,” he agrees, taking in the scene in front of him. “So’s he.”

“He’s been up for a bit,” Harry tells him. “A couple hours. I fed and changed him not too long ago. Was hoping you’d sleep a little longer, I came to his room once you were out so I could keep our door closed and his cries wouldn’t be so loud. But I guess you woke up anyway.”

“I slept for the longest I have in days, Haz. I’m used to being awake. I think it’s your turn now.”

“I’ll go to bed later,” Harry looks at Louis, eyes crinkling. “I’d rather spend time with my two favorite boys in the world right now.”

He continues to rock Beckett while Louis sits on the floor by their feet, running his hand over Beckett’s fine, dark hair and speaking quietly to him. When he was first born, Louis thought he looked a bit like an alien. The cutest alien in the world, but still, an alien. Or a prune or old man, maybe. He’s much cuter now that he’s been around a few weeks, the most beautiful thing Louis thinks he’s ever laid eyes on. He can’t wait to see what he looks like once he has more developed features and at the same time he’s already afraid of Beckett growing up. Well, a little afraid. He’d love to get past the screaming at all hours phase. 

Beckett doesn’t last for long, starting to fuss and wriggle in Harry’s arms. 

“I’ll take him,” Louis says. “Might as well while he’s already screaming, so I don’t just make him start up again.”

“Lou, you’re being ridiculous. He doesn’t scream because of you.”

“He doesn’t sleep for me either, Haz. It’s fine. Just hand him to me.”

“Okay,” Harry sighs, admitting defeat. “I have to shower and change anyway, I have baby puke all down my shirt.”

“We’ll be here,” Louis tells him, raising his voice as Beckett starts to fuss louder and louder.

Harry swoops down to Louis’ ear before he leaves the room, kissing him gently on the cheek and mumbling, “I bet he sleeps for you soon. Just give it time, love.” And with that, he leaves to shower and search for a shirt and some joggers that don’t have baby puke or formula spilt all over them. 

Louis tries, he really does. He sings, he makes faces, he walks Beckett around the flat about twenty times. He thinks Harry might’ve fallen asleep in the shower. “Please, please, baby. I’ll buy you a car if you stop screaming.” 

Beckett’s wails grow louder, the poor thing, and Louis feels his heart shattering.

“I’ll buy you a convertible with whatever new stereo equipment is cool by the time you’re a teenager.”

Nothing.

“I’ll drive across the entire continent with you and we’ll go on a road trip fueled by cigarettes and booze. The good stuff too, not the gross wine your dad likes.”

The screams continue.

“Before you promise our son a lifetime of debauchery and debt, please realize that he’s too young to really understand bribes. I don’t think his little brain is up to capacity yet, even if he’s the son of a smarty-pants like you,” Harry cuts in before Louis can continue. “And I don’t like gross wine. You do.”

“That’s besides the point, Harry,” Louis scolds. “The point is that our baby hates me.” He groans as Beckett wails, little face red and hot from exertion. He stays that way until he wears himself out, essentially screaming himself to sleep. 

“Poor thing,” Louis whispers as he stands over Beckett’s cot. “I wish you’d sleep for me, just once. It would make all of us a lot happier. It would make me the proudest dad on the entire planet. Even more than if you discovered the cure for cancer or became ridiculously rich and your dad and I never had to work again. All you have to do is sleep.”

But Beckett, too young to understand bribes, threats, or basic English, screams his way through the next few days, until Louis can’t come up with a deal more extravagant than Beckett’s very own circus, complete with him as a baby ringmaster. Is it the most creative Louis’ ever been? Probably not, but Louis finds it a bit hard to be unique when his baby screams like he’s about to launch an attack on a foreign enemy whenever Louis’s around him. 

Louis sent Harry out to buy some basics, like tea and diapers, while he watches his baby. Harry enters the flat to hear Beckett all out screaming bloody murder, like he has been for the last two hours. He walks into the nursery in utter disarray, stuffed bear on top of the bookcase and tiny socks and hats thrown on the changing table with abandon. Louis’ hair is wild; his eyes slightly manic as he pleads with Beckett to please, please stop crying before Louis tears his hair out. 

“Hi?” Harry asks as he looks around the room in apparent horror.

Louis just looks at Harry, eyes wide and pleading, desperate, and Harry caves. He reaches over and takes their crying machine from Louis, fitting him into his arms. Beckett stops screaming and for a brief second, Harry feels relief. Until he looks up from Beckett’s face and sees Louis burst into tears.

Louis knows he’s being ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. And he knows, rationally, that their baby’s not like, broken. Or genetically mutated or something. But it’s driving him insane that Beckett does nothing but scream every time he holds him, like Louis is burning him when he tries to calm him down. He’s heard the doctor, heard his mother, heard Harry tell him again and again that Beck’s just colicky and stubborn and loud, and that it’s nothing personal. But it’s starting to feel personal when Harry holds him and he just goes still, like being with Louis is torture or something. It sounds stupid, Louis knows it does, but he thinks maybe Beckett senses that Harry’s his father, his genetic father, and Louis is not. And that just makes the tears fall harder. In a normal scenario, Louis would be embarrassed he’s crying like this, but he just can’t find it in his heart to care.

Harry just takes in the scene in front of him, trying to form a plan in his sleep-deprived, worn out mind. 

“Right. Um…I’m going to put Beck in his cot. And make you a cup of tea. And you’re going to have a bath, and then we’re going to talk. And you’re going to sleep. Ok?”

Louis just nods dumbly, head down towards the floor. Harry lowers Beckett into his cot, afraid of setting him off like a grenade as soon as he lets go of him, but he stays amazingly quiet. Harry lets out a silent prayer of thank you before he leaves to draw Louis a bath and get started on making him tea.

When Louis emerges from the bathroom, clean and calmed down, he’s surprised to see Harry sitting on their bed with two cups of tea on the bedside table.

“Where’s Beck?”

“I, um, I called your mum. She’s with him. I think we both need a break. Just for a few hours.”

Louis doesn’t even mention Harry calling his mum, just nods silently and sits on the bed, folding his legs under him Indian-style, accepting the cup of tea Harry passes over to him.

“So…want to tell me what’s got you so upset?” Harry prods gently, resting a hand on Louis’ knee.

“He hates me,” Louis whispers, feeling tears form in his eyes again and God, he wishes he could just make himself stop but he can’t. He can feel himself getting worked up again, can spot it coming on, and he just can’t prevent it.

“Who? Beckett?” Harry asks dumbly, mentally cursing himself the second he asks. Of course Louis is talking about their son, their son who cries nonstop every time Louis holds him. Not that he doesn’t cry when Harry holds him, it just happens that whenever he finally stops and decides to either lie quietly or sleep, it’s when Harry’s holding him. 

Louis nods again, tears flowing down his face silently, and Harry is honestly scared. He’s tired- exhausted, bone-weary tired, but he’s also concerned. And upset. And annoyed, a little, if he’s being totally honest with himself. Two crying boys are about all he can handle before he decides to join. But above all, scared. Harry’s never seen Louis break like this, never seen him cry for anything other than Beckett’s birth. Quiet, withdrawn Louis is something he’s used to, but a teary, shaken Louis is something completely new and frightening. 

“Louis, he doesn’t hate you. Of course he doesn’t hate you. How could he? He’s only three weeks old, he doesn’t even know what hate is.”

“That’s just it, Harry! It’s instinctive! He screams when I hold him Haz, absolutely wails. He knows, he knows that you’re his dad, not me. You’re his father and I’m just another person to him!”

“Oh Lou,” Harry says, feeling his heart break in two. He had no idea Louis felt that way, didn’t even think of it. “You can’t possibly believe that.”

Louis says nothing.

“Louis, seriously. That’s ridiculous. You’re just as much Beckett’s dad as I am, if not more so! You named him, he has your last name. You designed his room and went to every single doctor’s appointment when Hannah was pregnant! He doesn’t think you’re not his dad, he loves you. He’s just being fussy. Please don’t say that. Don’t even think it. I can’t believe you could even think that. You’re his parent as much as I am.”

“Am I, though?” Louis asks. “He’s not mine in any biological sense. He screams when I hold him and I lose it. I’m a horrible parent. If you can even call me that. He’s not mine. You’d be better off doing this alone.” 

Harry knows this isn’t the right way to respond, if it can be classified as a response at all, but he can’t help it. He gets up and leaves. Louis can hear his clumsy tread into Beckett’s nursery, knows he’s going to see the baby. And Louis just sits on their bed and cries some more.

Harry feels horrible, really. When he walked into the nursery, Jay was rocking Beckett quietly, singing gentle lullabies to him. Harry took him wordlessly, holding him against his chest and breathing in the baby smell of his tiny head. He briefly fills Jay in on what’s going on, but it’s hard for him to do with the rush of emotions running through his veins. Above all, though, he’s angry.

He’s not mine. Louis’ words keep going through his mind, over and over and over. How could Louis ever, ever say that Beckett wasn’t his? And if Harry was being rational he would know that Louis didn’t mean he doesn’t love Beckett, but that he’s not his biological father and that he was speaking with his heart completely and not at all with his head, that Louis could never actually think their son isn’t his. But Harry’s far too tired and emotional to think rationally, and far too easily angered and upset. So, for now, he’s just going to breathe in his son until he can reach a normal thinking level again. 

“Do you want to talk about it, love?” Louis looks up as his mum walks into his bedroom, gingerly sitting next to him on the bed.

“Not particularly,” Louis mutters.

“Well, I can’t make you talk to me. Lord knows I learned that over the years,” she sighs, attempting to be teasing. Louis really isn’t in the mood.

“I’m worried about you,” Jay says bluntly. “It’s not like you to be like this, love.”

“Mum, my baby hates me, my husband walked away from me like I was nothing, and I’m such a terrible parent that Harry needed to call you because I couldn’t handle it. Sorry if I’m acting a little out of character at the moment, but give me a few minutes and I’ll try to do an adequate Louis impression for you.”

“That seems more like it,” Jay smiles, putting her arm around Louis and pulling him into her.

“You know, Louis, babies are senseless, really. It takes a while to sort them out. You can’t take anything they do to heart.”

“I know, mum, I know! I’ve heard you and Harry and the doctor’s say it. But it doesn’t change the fact that my son cries every time I go near him and I have no biological ties to him. So it’s a little hard to not take personally when he practically lights up every time he looks at Harry.”

“Like you, you mean?” Jay quips. “He’s just being temperamental, love. I can swear it’s not personal. Lottie used to scream whenever she saw me, and I actually gave birth to her. As far as Harry goes, I think he’s most upset that you feel like Beckett has no ties to you. You and Harry are equal amounts his father, and it’s time you accept it and stop saying rubbish like that. It doesn’t bode well for anyone, especially Harry. He’s stressed too, darling. And between Beckett and you, I think he’s about to go insane with worry.”

“I know,” Louis admits, hanging his head. “But he’s still doing it. He’s with the baby right now, even though I know he’s bloody exhausted. And I can’t do it, mum. I completely lost it. I can’t even be a parent, I had to start crying and get my mother to help me. I’m no better off than Beck right now. And Harry’s so damn good at it.”

“Louis, you know first hand how difficult parenting can be. You learned that at a very young age, and I’ll always regret not being the mother you deserved. But don’t you dare say you can’t be a parent when you have four younger sisters and son in the next room who can attest otherwise. Even the best parents need help, love. I had to call your grandparents to take you once before I threw you out the window from screaming!”

Louis shoots Jay a look. “Threw me out the window?”

“I was about to, lamb. You cried so often and so loud that I was seriously considering it. It doesn’t make you a bad parent if you need help, Louis. It makes you human. And Harry needs help, too. From me and his mum, but especially from you. You can’t just quit, even though I know you would never.”

“Never,” Louis agrees, laughing and sniffing at the same time, nose runny from crying so much. 

“I love you, Louis. So much. And I’m so proud of you. You know you can call me whenever you need me.”

“I know,” Louis nods, burying his head into his mum’s shoulder, inhaling her scent of detergent and lavender perfume and the general smell Louis’ come to associate with his mother for years and years. Like comfort and home.

“I think you should sleep now, love. You and Harry. I’ll stay as long as you need.”

“Thanks, mum. Love you too.” Louis allows his mother to lay him back on the bed, pulling the covers up and over him, tucked just under his chin like he’s a child again. Parenting really is a lifetime job, he thinks.

He can hear the muffled squeals of Beckett as his mum joins Harry, hears the two of them conversing quietly. He closes his eyes and waits to fall asleep until he hears the door open, feels the dip of the bed that means Harry’s joined him, pushing clumsily under the blankets and snaking an arm around Louis’ waist. Harry can feel Louis relax as soon as he touches him and they both fall asleep instantly.

Louis wakes up first, hours later, feeling rested for the first time in weeks. He sneaks out of bed, doing his best not to wake Harry before walking down the hall to find his mother asleep in the rocking chair, looking horribly uncomfortable.

“Mum,” he whispers, prodding her shoulder as gently as possible. Beckett’s miraculously asleep in his cot, the mobile above his head twirling and twinkling. 

“Mum, go home and get some sleep. I’ve got it covered now.”

“Are you sure?” She asks, scanning his face for any sign of panic.

“Yeah. I think we need some father-son bonding time,” Louis smiles, watching Beckett breathe peacefully as he sleeps.

“Ok, love. I’m only a phone call away,” she reminds him, slowly getting to her feet and kissing him goodbye.

“I know, mum. Thanks. For everything.”

Beckett starts to stir as she leaves, blinking his eyes awake and looking at Louis as he leans down to scoop him from his cot.

“Ok baby, it’s just you and me. I think it’s time we do this without bribes and threats, yeah?” He lifts Beckett gently; trying to avoid the screaming he knows is coming. Beckett stays fairly quiet the entire time Louis lifts and changes him before taking him to the kitchen. He’s squirmy, very squirmy, and making little baby noises, but he’s not all out waging war with his lungs, and that’s a step in the right direction. He’ll take it. He walks Beckett around the flat a few times, telling him stories in a low voice, before retiring to the red rocking chair his mother just vacated.

Harry gets up about an hour later, confused and disoriented when he wakes up alone in a quiet flat. He walks down to the nursery to find Louis rocking Beckett, reading to him from a large book of nursery rhymes he has open on his lap.

“Hey,” he says quietly as he walks in, trying not to startle them.

“Hey,” Louis responds, taking in the teary expression on Harry’s face. “Everything ok?”

“Perfect,” Harry tells him. “You’re doing it. He’s not screaming.” A few happy tears fall from his wide eyes as he grins. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt happier in his entire life then he does right now, watching Louis smile at their baby as Beckett lies peacefully in the crook of his arms.

“I am, aren’t I?” Louis grins down at Beckett as he gives his agreement. “About time.”

“About time,” Harry repeats, before turning to leave the room.

“Wait, where are you going?” Louis whisper-yells after him. It doesn’t take long before Harry’s back, camera in hand. 

“Really Harry, now?”

“Of course now,” Harry answers. “Just keep reading. Pretend I’m not here.”

“I could never,” Louis replies, smiling goofily at Harry, hoping he picks up on the apology that’s hidden beneath it.

“Love you, Lou,” Harry tells him.

“Love you, Haz. I’m so sorry I ditched you yesterday. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s ok, babe. I think the screaming would drive anyone insane. Just promise me you’ll never, ever, ever say that he’s not yours again.”

“Harry, you know I didn’t mean to-“

“Just promise, Louis.”

“I swear on everything I have. He’s mine. Of course he’s mine. Did you know my mum said I screamed so much as a baby that she almost tossed me out a window?”

“That’s odd,” Harry smiles. “My mum said I was a really happy baby. Almost never cried. Guess he gets that from you, daddy.”

“I guess so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, this is actually the way I planned this chapter to be. First time for everything, right? I hope you guys liked it! I tried to make it as fluffy as possible, even if it's a little more serious this time. I think there's going to be one more chapter, kind of an epilogue-type thing. At least, that's where my mind's at right now.
> 
> Comments, kudos, etc. always appreciated! BIG thanks to anyone who's done so so far! Makes my day :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD. It's finally done! Not gonna lie, it was so hard for me to write this and it took forever. But it's done and I'm a little sad to let it go. I know this fic hasn't been very popular and I've gotten a few complaints about Harry's character in particular, but I've enjoyed writing this series from start to finish. The first fic has over 400 kudos, which is unbelievable to me, so a massive thank you to everyone who's read/commented/left kudos/bookmarked. I love all of you.
> 
> I hope this isn't too terrible. It's after two where I am and I'm super tired, so I hope this still seems alright when I read it after I'm more awake. Also, I just wrote a Larry Halloween fic, so check it out if you're interested! Thanks again!

“Babe, I don’t think I can do this,” Louis cries, looking from Beckett to Harry and back again.

“You’ll be fine Lou, it’s only a couple of hours. I swear you won’t be missing anything exciting. Just nappy changing and practicing walking and talking,” Harry replies, walking around their tiny kitchen with Beckett in his arms.

“Harry, if he walks or talks for the first time when I’m not home, I will blame you and it won’t be pretty,” Louis hisses, standing back from the kitchen table and plucking Beckett out of Harry’s arms.

“What do you want me to do, keep him locked in his cot all day?” Harry asks, amusement creeping underneath his question.

“It’s not funny,” Louis mumbles, dipping his nose into Beckett’s curls, inhaling the scent of baby. “He’s going to talk today, I know it. And I’m going to miss everything.”

“You’re going to go to work, Louis. It’s not the end of the world.”

“You’re only saying that because you get to stay home with him every day,” Louis huffs.

“You and I both know I won’t be home with him all day, every day. I still have classes to teach and pictures to take,” Harry replies calmly.

“That’s not the point,” Louis grumbles. And it’s not. The point is that today is the first day of school, and Louis’ first day back to work after weeks of nothing to do but play with his baby. His baby, who’s rapidly learning to form what seem like words instead of just little sounds and looks closer to walking every day. Harry is still working, to be fair, but not as much. He teaches three yoga classes a week, Monday; Wednesday; and Friday at noon, and their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Clark, has agreed to watch him for the hour or so Harry will be gone those days. He’s cut down on the amount of photography assignments he takes, so most of his time will be spent with Beck.  Which Louis resents when he thinks of Beckett starting to walk or learn new words when he’s not there.

“Baby, tell Daddy he’s going to have a great first day of school and that you won’t do anything exciting while he’s gone,” Harry says to Beckett, smiling like he’s biting back a laugh.

Beckett squeals, unaware the father who’s holding him is about to have an emotional breakdown.

“See, Louis? He agrees,” Harry smiles, reaching to take Beckett back. “And you have to finish getting dressed, unless there’s a new dress code at school that doesn’t require shirts.”

“Fine,” Louis sighs, rolling his eyes. “I’ll get dressed and go, but I’m not going to enjoy myself. And it’s all your fault,” he says, directing that last bit in a singsong voice towards his son and crossing his eyes.

Beckett laughs, clapping his hands, and Harry sighs. “That’s probably not the best attitude to have, Mr. Tomlinson. Especially not on the first day. It’s the only day your students will be excited to be there.”

“Thanks,” Louis replies drily, rolling his eyes. “I see you have a lot of faith in my teaching skills. I’ll have you know the students love me.”

“I know your students love you,” Harry says. “I just thought you needed to remind yourself of that.”

“Piss off,” Louis replies, voice muffled as he yanks a shirt over his head.

“Louis,” Harry scolds, but Louis cuts him off before he can finish.

“I know, I know. Beck’s going to start talking soon and we need to use ‘appropriate language.’ I know,” he sighs, hoping to cut Harry off before he begins his patented lecture on what is and isn’t acceptable to say in front of Beckett.

“I don’t have time to lecture you today anyway,” Harry points out. “You’re about to be late if you don’t leave.”

“Shi-“ Louis starts, stopping himself before he gets the word out. “Shoot.” He shoves his shoes on and grabs his bag, before turning to Harry and Beckett, who have followed him towards the door.

“Bye Haz,” he mutters quickly, leaning up to kiss Harry quickly before bending down a bit to meet Beckett’s eyes from where he’s propped on Harry’s hip. “Bye, baby. I love you so so so much and I’m only going to be gone for a little while, I promise. Please don’t do anything exciting until I come home, ok?”

“Lou,” Harry warns, glancing at the time displayed on their cable box.

“Right, right, I’m off,” he promises, standing straight. “Love you. Have fun today.”

“Love you too!” Harry calls after his retreating back. He shuts the door and looks at the soon-to-be one year old in his arms. “Babe, if you walk or talk today you’re going to be in big trouble.” Beckett looks back at him, green eyes so similar to Harry’s own.

“Da?” He asks, looking back at Harry.

“Crap,” Harry mutters, before mentally kicking himself.

“Good job, baby!” He cheers, not wanting Beckett to fully say “Dada” without Louis present, but not wanting to discourage him from speaking either. “You just couldn’t have said it an hour earlier, could you?”

Beckett seems to have caught on that he receives a reaction when he says “Da.” If catching on means repeating it all day and leaving Harry torn between encouraging him to say the full word or not. The problem is, he thinks, that he and Louis both want to be Daddy. Or Dada, as it may be.

“Ew, Harry. Papa makes me think of, like, an old fat man with a beard and a pipe or something,” Louis had complained. “Like Santa Claus. I don’t think I can call you that. And I certainly don’t want to be called that.”

“Fine,” Harry had sighed. He couldn’t really argue. Once Louis had said that, he couldn’t think of being called Papa in the same way. “What then? Pop? Poppy? I think I had a friend who used to call his father Patch.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Louis replied. “Patch? Like, a sewn over hole in clothing? Or like, a tool to quit smoking?” He should know, he had been a big fan of nicotine patches as he finally quit for good.

“I’m not saying Beckett should call us that, I’m saying I can’t think of an alternative for daddy,” Harry said, exasperated.

“Why do we need an alternative?” Louis questioned. “Why can’t we both just be daddy? Or dad? Or dada? Like a normal term to use for your father.”

“Because,” Harry explained for what felt like the hundredth time, “Both of us being dad is going to be confusing. How is he going to differentiate between us?”

“He’s a smart kid, Harry. I’m pretty sure that if he wants you and not me, he’ll make it known.”

“He’s not even a year old, Lou. You have no idea if he’s smart or not,” Harry points out. “And his tiny brain might get annoyed when he calls for Dada and the father he’s not asking for walks through the door.”

“He’s smart,” Louis says defensively. “He’s our son. There’s no way he’s not smart.” And then he went to lift Beckett off the blanket he was sitting on, playing idly with the stuffed teddy bear Louis had insisted he needed, ending their conversation. “You’re going to be a right genius, aren’t you?” He asked, looking into Beckett’s eyes. “You’ll put both of us to shame.”

When Louis walks through the door that afternoon, the flat is quiet. “Harry?” He calls quietly, hoping Beckett is napping and Harry fell asleep with him. He walks towards Beckett’s room and finds Harry sitting on the floor with him, speaking softly.

“Da,” Beckett says, and Louis feels his heart drop.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Harry tells him, smile on his face. “Can you say dada? I’m dada.”

“Da,” Beckett repeats, picking up a plastic set of keys and sticking them in his mouth, which Harry wrestles out of his hands.

Beckett’s just starting to cry when Louis decides to walk in, hoping to distract from what could become a full-on wail.

“Hi,” he says, picking Beckett up and holding him out in front of his face, crossing his eyes and making silly smiles. “Hi. Hello. Hi.”

“Hi.”

Louis almost drops him.

“Did he just-did you just say hi?” Louis asks, whipping his head around to look at Harry, who has a hand clasped over his mouth underneath shining eyes.

“Hi,” Beckett says again, and Louis squeezes him so tightly he’s certain Beckett’s going to learn to talk just to tell him to let him go.

“Hi,” Louis repeats, unable to control the huge smile on his face. Beckett repeats it and Louis and Harry are both grinning, twirling Beckett around and cheering, all three of them laughing.

“That was his first word, right? He didn’t say dada today, did he?” Louis asks Harry, blue eyes wide and ecstatic.

“Nope,” Harry grins, so happy Beckett was being stubborn all day. “His first word is officially hi.”

Louis looks so happy that Harry probably would have lied if Beckett had said “dada” today. His smile could set the world on fire.

His second word ends up being “oops,” after Louis drops their dinner on the kitchen floor that night.

“Oops and hi, what brilliant first words,” Harry laughs, choosing not to be angry their entire meal was just ruined.

“You’re just lucky I said ‘oops’ and not a swear,” Louis answers, looking for the broom. “That would’ve been a moment for the baby book.”

“They’re perfect words,” Harry says. “Dada is so unoriginal. He’s going to be truly unique, just like you, Lou.”

“Like both of us,” Louis agrees, picking up the food off the ground. “Just so long as he doesn’t read poetry to plants.”

“Or do nothing but scowl and smoke,” Harry shoots back.

“Or do yoga outdoors in the middle of night in February.”

“Or drop an entire meal on the ground. How do you even do that?”

“Oops,” Louis mumbles again, and they catch each other’s eyes and fall into great, deep belly laughs, the kind where you can’t make eye contact without dissolving into hysterics again.

“Let’s just hope he’s smoother than the both of us,” Harry giggles, straightening out from where he was clutching his stomach, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Let’s hope,” Louis nods, still laughing and unable to stop. They’re both giggling when they fall into bed that night, one of them finally stopping and the other shaking the bed with silent laughter. It’s quite easily the best day either of them can remember.

It becomes their favorite inside joke, just one mention of “oops” or “hi” for the other to break into laughter. So much that after Beckett’s first birthday, just about a month from when he says his first words, they get the words inked into their skin. Zayn smiles and shakes his head the entire time, but he can hardly judge. Isla is six years old now; going on seven, and Zayn has nearly double that amount of tattoos dedicated to her, Liam, and their dogs.

//

The first time Beckett’s sick is a nightmare. It’s not like Louis doesn’t have experience with sick kids, he does have four little sisters. But it’s not the same when it’s his baby crying, his baby sniffling and coughing and running a fever.

“Do you think we need to call the doctor?” Harry asks for the millionth time, fretting over their crying baby, miserable and red-faced from screaming and coughing in Harry’s arms.

“No,” Louis replies, again. “He’ll say the same thing your mum said, my mum said, and the Internet said. To give him some medicine and to call if his temperature runs any higher.”

“And we don’t have any medicine, do we?” Harry asks flatly, aware of what the answer will be. To their credit, they bought children’s medicine before Beckett got sick, knowing they would need it one day. But they gave it to Niall one day when they were watching Regan and she came down with a fever, sending it home with her.

“No. We’ve got to the go to the store. Are you going or am I?” Louis asks Harry, hoping Harry chooses to go. It’s not that Louis wants to stay in the flat with a screaming baby; he just doesn’t want to leave Beckett when he’s ill. And Harry’s been up with him all morning, making calls and worrying himself sick. He needs a break. Beckett’s still favoring Harry, hasn’t seemed to stop, but him leaving for a few minutes can’t possibly make Beckett more upset than he is at the moment.

“I’ll go,” Harry sighs, handing Beckett over to Louis. “I won’t be gone long, just…call me if anything gets worse, ok?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, propping Beckett on his hip. “He’ll be fine, Haz. He’s just a baby. Babies get sick and they cry and there’s nothing we can do about it except give him medicine and wait until he gets better.

Harry leaves and Beckett wails lower, breaking Louis’ heart all over again. “You’re ok, baby. Daddy’s got you.” He presses a kiss to Beckett’s forehead and notices he feels warmer, so he grabs a small flannel and dampens it with cold water, running it over his skin. It shouldn’t be so upsetting for him to hold his son, but as he rocks him in his arms Beckett just appears to be more and more miserable. The cloth seems to be helping, but only slightly.

“You’re just way too hot, aren’t you? I think we need to get you out of that onesie.” Louis strips him of his onesie and that seems to help a little more as well, Beckett downgrading from full-on screams to tiny sniffles.

“Daddy’s going to be back with medicine soon and you’re going to feel loads better,” Louis tells him, as if he can understand. “I’m so sorry you don’t feel well, peanut. Being sick is the worst. If it makes you feel better, you’re still as cute as ever.”

Beckett just looks at him with his big green eyes, the same as Harry’s. He’s been reduced to tiny hiccups, and Louis runs his hand through his curls, damp with sweat. He yawns and Beckett mirrors it, his little mouth stretching open and his eyes blinking with fatigue.

“Do you want to take a nap? I want to take a nap.” There’s no way in hell Louis is leaving Beckett alone in his cot, so he carries him into his and Harry’s bed and pulls him onto his chest, falling asleep as soon as Beckett’s breathing evens out.

Louis wakes up a few minutes later in a start, heart pounding, feeling Beckett’s weight being pulled off him. “Shit, Harry, you scared me to death! I thought he fell off the bed or someone was taking him or something!”

Harry laughs a little before apologizing. “I’m sorry, I really am. I know it’s going to be a disaster but I figured it’s better to wake him up and have him cry with medicine in him than to let his fever go up any higher.”

Louis is not entirely sure that’s what he’d do, but it doesn’t matter. Beckett’s up and screaming and Harry’s trying to get him to drink the spoonful of children’s medicine he bought while Louis goes to get a glass of water to calm his racing heart. Beckett swallows it down after a couple minutes of fighting, before looking up at Harry.

“Dada,” he says, face crumpling again.

 Harry looks confused. “I’m right here, Beck, daddy’s got you.”

Beckett repeats the word louder, letting out some more cries before Louis reenters the room. “Dada!” He yells again, sounding more relieved in his cries. Realization dawns on Harry and he just knew this was going to be confusing.

“Here,” Harry says, passing Beckett off to Louis. “He’s been crying for you, babe.”

Beckett relaxes in Louis’ arms and stops fidgeting, his cries tapering off.

“You poor thing,” Louis coos as Beckett begins to drift off again. “I’m right here, baby. I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere.” He looks to see Harry staring at the two of them, eyes narrowed.

“What?” Louis asks.

“You’re happy,” Harry accuses, not without affection though. “Our son is sick and miserable, and you’re happy he asked for you and not me.”

Louis feels his cheeks redden, blush spreading across his face. “Fine. I’m a little happy I was the favored parent for once. Sue me, alright?”

“I’m not judging, babe. Just making an observation,” Harry replies, holding his hands up to show his innocence.

“Uh-huh. Just making an observation my ass, Harold. You think I’m a horrible parent for taking a small pleasure in my son asking for me. Just admit it.”

“Hey,” Harry says, choosing to let Louis’ second curse go without lecture. The first one was Harry’s fault, he’ll admit. It probably wasn’t the best idea to just pull Beckett off of Louis without waking him up first. “I could never think you’re a bad parent, Lou. I think you’re a great parent. And I’m happy he asked for you, too.”

“So you don’t think I’m evil?” Louis questions, Beckett now asleep in his arms. He moves to the bed, gently placing Beckett under the covers before he gets in next to him.

“No. I think you finally got something you really wanted, even if it came with less-than-ideal circumstances. It’s not bad to be shown that your son needs you, Louis. Even if you already knew it.”

“It was nice to be shown it,” Louis agrees, tucking the covers around himself and his son as gently as possible. “Now can you get in here? This is our window to sleep and I don’t want to waste it anymore.”

Harry gets in and wraps a long arm around the two of them, closing his eyes. It’s been a long day.

//

“Niall, you’re in for it big time,” Louis warns by way of greeting as he swings their front door open.

“Why? Was she awful?” Eleanor asks, concerned as she peers over Louis’ shoulder. The fact that their flat doesn’t look turned upside down is slightly comforting to her.

“I have never seen a child who is more attached to her father,” Louis declares. “Every two minutes she asked for you. What’s she going to do when her siblings get here?” Louis and Harry spent the night babysitting Regan as her parents went to dinner and a movie, trying to squeeze in some couple time before their twins are born. With Beckett nearing two and Regan newly four, they’re at ages that are difficult to play together. But Regan enjoyed hosting a tea party for all of them before Harry put on Toy Story and she fell asleep on the couch.

Niall just grins. “What can I say, man? I’m just a loveable guy, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry, Louis,” Eleanor apologizes. “You would think I don’t even exist, let alone carry, feed, and dress her. She’s not going to enjoy sharing him, that’s for sure,” she agrees, rubbing her hand over her seven-months pregnant stomach. “I hope she wasn’t too much of a handful.”

“Not at all,” Louis tells her. “She’s great. We love having her.”

When her parents enter the flat, Regan’s sitting up on the couch, blinking her blue eyes awake, blonde ponytail askew.

“Daddy!” She cries, tossing the blanket covering her on the floor.

“Pint size!” He yells in return, swinging her over his shoulder. It’s so completely Niall to nickname his daughter that, but Louis can’t help but find it adorable. Looking at four-year-old Regan is like looking at Niall in miniature, all enthusiasm and wild energy.

“Where’s Harry?” Eleanor asks, looking around the seemingly empty flat.

“Outside,” Louis sighs. “He said he had some amazing new book to read.”

“Ready for school tomorrow, Tommo?” Niall asks, clapping Louis on the shoulder with Regan on his shoulders.

“Yeah, as much as I can be, I guess. Monday’s are never the best days,” Louis answers. They were originally going to watch Regan the night before, but Eleanor’s pregnancy has been giving her terrible headaches so they rescheduled. Harry and Louis didn’t mind watching her tonight instead.

“Sounds like Harry has some stuff you can teach,” Niall jokes cheekily. “If the plants don’t mind sharing.” In the pause of his laughter, they can hear Harry’s voice drifting in through the open balcony door.

“Don’t mock my husband,” Louis scolds, elbowing Niall in the ribs. “At least he can read.”

“That was rude,” Niall replies. “Regan, tell Louis he’s mean to Daddy.”

“Mean Louis,” she admonishes from atop Niall’s shoulders.

“Those are harsh words from my favorite princess,” Louis tells her. “Can we still have tea parties together?”

“No,” she answers, sticking her button nose in the air.

Eleanor laughs. “Good luck getting her to forgive you, Lou.”

When Louis says goodbye to the family a few minutes later, Regan turns her head away from him. Niall finds it hysterical.

“You laugh, Horan, go ahead. It’s not nice to use your children as bodyguards!” Louis yells as they leave. He can hear Niall’s loud cackles carry them down the hall.

Louis checks on Beckett, sleeping soundly, before joining Harry outside. He pulls Harry away from the plants and over to the corner, where they leave out pillows and blankets. After manipulating Harry’s limbs into a suitable position, he leans back onto Harry’s chest and runs his hands over Harry’s stomach and legs.

“What’re you reading?” He asks quietly, always aware of the volume of his voice at night. Everything seems louder in the dark, like the stars and moon are listening in on their conversations.

“I thought since October is coming up I should start reading something seasonal, like Poe. So I bought a copy of his works and I didn’t know I’d like them so much. But I’m really enjoying it,” Harry tells him in his slow, deep voice.

“Poe’s cool,” Louis agrees, sleepily.

“What were you and Niall yelling about?” Harry asks. “I should’ve gone in to say hello, I just wanted to finish this story before I lost my place.”

“He was teasing you for reading to plants, so I elbowed him. But Regan’s like his own little watchdog. She wouldn’t even look at me when I said goodbye, Haz.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but when Louis looks up at him he sees Harry giving him a bemused smile.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Harry smiles slowly. “I just never thought I’d see the day you defend my reading to the plants.”

“I…” Louis starts before he trails off. He thinks for a moment before speaking again. “Just because it’s not something I would do doesn’t mean I don’t think you should read to the plants. And yeah, I tease you, but it makes you happy, which makes me happy. So I had to elbow Niall, really, because he was insulting my happiness.”

“Uh huh,” Harry says with disbelief, raising an eyebrow. “I think you like that I’m weird.”

“Harry. I married you and we have a child. I don’t think I’d be here if I didn’t love you and your weirdness.”

Harry kisses the top of Louis’ head before he answers. “I know. It’s just nice to hear you say it sometimes.”

Louis straightens, kissing Harry on the lips this time. He’s just digging his fingers underneath the waistband of Harry’s jeans when they hear a whine coming from down the hall.

Louis sighs and stands. “I’ll go. You return to your Poe.”

“I love you, Lou,” Harry calls after him.

Louis smiles down at him, soft and fond, before he goes to soothe their son, who most likely had a nightmare and panicked when he woke up alone. When Harry goes to soothe him, he’ll hold him and sing to him until Beck falls back asleep. Unlike Harry, Louis can’t, just physically can’t leave Beckett when he knows he’s upset. Harry already knows Louis going to get him means having an extra person in their bed tonight. He really doesn’t mind, though.

//

It’s the night of Harry’s thirty-first birthday and he’s sitting at their kitchen table, taking picture after picture of Beckett smearing cake all over his tiny face.

“How did we get a kid who’s so cute, Harry?” Louis asks, trying to help their son get cake into his mouth instead of on his chubby cheeks, but the effort is pretty futile.

“Just good genes, I guess,” Harry jokes, earning him a smack on the arm from Louis and a laugh from Beckett.

“I think we have the cutest son in the entire world,” Louis continues, gently wiping smeared cake off Beckett’s face. “You think you’re pretty cute, don’t you?” He asks Beckett, noting the cake that made it way into his wild curls. Someone will need a bath before they go to sleep.

“Yes. I cute,” Beckett agrees, making both Harry and Louis laugh.

“I think someone needs a b-a-t-h,” Harry spells out, gently moving Beckett’s bowl out of his reach. Although more of the dessert is on his face than in his body, Harry is still afraid he’ll be up all night from the sugar.

“Oh no,” Louis gasps dramatically. “Anything but that!” Beckett has recently decided baths are horrible, and he wants nothing to do with them. Unfortunately for all three of them, baths are a necessity in the Tomlinson household.

“It’s your birthday, I’ll do it,” Louis tells Harry. “Consider it the best gift I could ever give you.”

“I can think of lots of good things you can give me,” Harry replies. “Things you can only give me when little people are fast asleep.”

“Bad,” Louis scolds mockingly, blue eyes sparkling. At thirty-four, he’s still the most beautiful man Harry’s ever seen. There’s some lines around his eyes and mouth, but his hair is still full and lacking gray and his eyes are still the most brilliant shade of blue. “Beck, tell daddy he’s bad.”

“Bad daddy,” Beckett reprimands, sticking his lower lip out. He looks so much like Harry when he makes that face; Louis can’t believe it.

“Hey, I’m not bad,” Harry argues, tickling Beckett until his pout turns into a smile. “Say you love daddy.”

“Love daddy,” Beckett repeats, kicking his little feet rapidly. There’s the sugar rush Harry was afraid of. The minute he sees the bathtub he’ll be flailing his limbs and screaming his heart out. Harry’s so thankful it’s his birthday.

“You know, he could be talking about me,” Louis jokes, lifting Beckett out of his chair. “Am I your favorite daddy?”

“Yes,” Beckett yells, running the minute his feet touch the floor. Harry and Louis follow him down the hall to his bedroom, where he starts dancing with his stuffed bear.

“That’s not very nice, you know,” Harry points out, sulking. “I should at least get to be the favorite on my birthday.”

“Babe, he doesn’t even know what favorite means,” Louis assures him. “All he knows is that bears are excellent dancers and baths are a daily torture.”

“He is cute, though,” Harry laughs, watching him twirl the stuffed animal around. “I kind of love him a lot.”

“He’s the cutest,” Louis agrees. “We make really cute kids, Haz. I think it would be a disservice to the world if we didn’t have at least one more.”

“Really?” Harry asks, trying to sound casual though his voice comes out higher-pitched than normal.

“Really,” Louis agrees. “I think he’d like a sibling. I’d like it if he had a sibling. Would you?”

“Y-yeah,” Harry stammers, caught off guard by Louis. “I would really like that.”

Louis smiles and leans up on his toes, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck to kiss him before leaving to start Beckett’s bath while Harry turns some music on from his phone to join his dance party.

Harry’s lying on their bed, waiting for Louis to finish putting Beckett to bed. He wanted to do it too, but Louis insisted he relax because it’s his birthday. It’s both difficult and far too easy to not get up when he heard Beckett scream over the bath and continue to make a fuss as Louis put him to bed. The twos really can be terrible.

When Louis comes in to join him, eyes tired and hair a mess, Harry just looks at him. “So…two kids?”

“Yeah,” Louis answers, kissing and biting over Harrry’s collarbones. “Two kids.”

//

Harry wakes up to a kick in the leg by a tiny foot. His eyes startle open and adjust to the soft, early-morning light that’s filling their bedroom. Louis is awake too, running his fingers through Beckett’s curls as he sleeps with his head on Louis and his feet kicking across to Harry. Harry doesn’t remember him joining them, Louis must have helped him crawl into bed and get between them. He really doesn’t mind, though. There are far worse ways to be woken up.

“Hi,” he whispers quietly, voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Hi,” Louis smiles back, voice perfectly clear. “Why are you up?”

“Because your son with his mad, football-loving little feet kicked me in the leg,” Harry gripes, smiling to show he’s not seriously complaining. “You?”

“Because _your_ son,” Louis replies, “keeps flinging his curls around and it’s making me rather hot and itchy. Your curls are dangerous, Harry.”

It’s become something of a joke to them, calling Beck the other’s son. It might seem like a weird joke, but it’s theirs. Beckett may have Harry’s genes, but as he grows he becomes more and more like Louis. You would never guess he doesn’t have both Styles and Tomlinson genetics. He loves football, has glinting, mischievous eyes with a grin to match, and began reading at two years old with a vocabulary that’s much larger than either of theirs were at his age. His eyes, though they look like Louis’ in character, are green and glowing, like Harry’s. His hair is a little lighter than Harry’s, the color more like Louis’, but it’s as wild and curly as Harry’s is. Neither Harry nor Louis can bear to cut them more than a few inches, but Beckett doesn’t ask them to. He’s like a smart, playful, little lion. A lion that can’t even sleep without causing some sort of havoc.

“What about Gray?” Harry asks without preamble.

“Gray? The colour? It’s alright, I suppose,” Louis replies. “Are we painting?”

“No, I mean like a name,” Harry answers. “You know, as in The Picture of Dorian…?”

“I dunno, Haz, I feel like it’s kind of weird to name our child after a colour. Wait. Is Gray a boy’s name or a girl’s name? Or is it unisex?”

“A boy,” Harry answers. “If we have another boy, that is. And it’d be spelled like the American way. Do you really not like it? I think it’s quite unique. And it sounds smart. Gray something Tomlinson. Like an action star name or something.”

“Maybe,” Louis tells him, not completely shooting it down. He can’t deny that he kind of likes it, a little. He’s always preferred unique names, obviously. He doesn’t meet that many Beckett’s in his daily life. But he doesn’t want their son or daughter to be made fun of, either.

“We can still think of others,” Harry assures him, even if he doesn’t really mean it. He’s been putting a lot of thought into names, and if Louis doesn’t come around to Gray, he’ll put up a fight. Or toss out weirder options until Gray sounds better. It’s not like River hasn’t crossed his mind.

Louis put up the worst fight trying to convince Harry to find out the sex of their second child, due in three months, but Harry absolutely refuses to know, and won’t let Louis either.

“Come on, Harry,” Louis begged when they left Hannah’s appointment, pouting his lower lip like a puppy. “Can’t I just know and not tell you?”

“No,” Harry replied, “because you’d be so excited and gloating that you know until I go crazy and beg you to tell me, which you will, and then I’ll be disappointed that it’s not a surprise anymore.”

“Surprises suck,” Louis retorts.

“Clever,” Harry responds drily. “But I want to be surprised. Some of us, the ones who don’t go looking for their Christmas and birthday presents like a child, enjoy that moment of discovery and the anticipation leading up to it.”

“I hate anticipation,” Louis says, which Harry already knew.

“I don’t see why it matters anyway,” Harry mutters. “You and I both know that you already know.”

“I knew Beck would be a boy,” Louis admits, “but that doesn’t mean I’m a psychic.”

“I disagree,” Harry argues. “You’re eerily good at knowing these things. You always know who goes home on Big Brother and you always guess the end to movies.”

“That’s just observational,” Louis argues. “I don’t actually know. It’s easy to just look at what’s going on and make assumptions. I literally have no way of knowing what sex our baby is unless I see a sonogram or you know, just be a normal person and ask the doctor.”

“Whatever,” Harry gives up, not acknowledging Louis’ dig at him. “You know you know.”

Louis sighs, folding his arms over his chest. He does have a pretty strong guess. It would just be nice to not have an inkling of doubt. Not that it matters, he honestly doesn’t have a preference and it won’t affect the clothes or toys they buy in advance, but he would like to be sure. But they’ll wait. They have other things to focus on besides the sex. Like the fact that they’re moving to an actual house soon and that the school year starts again today. It doesn’t affect Beckett until next year, but it does mean Louis’s going back to work.

“I don’t want to go to school, Harry,” Louis whines. “I just want to stay home and play with my baby.”

“Your baby isn’t really a baby anymore, Lou,” Harry points out. Louis kicks him.

“Hey! Between the two of you my leg’s going to be covered in bruises.”

“Well, don’t be stupid, then,” Louis huffs.

“You know he turns four in October, Lou. He’s getting big.”

“He’s my baby until he’s…well, forever, I guess.”

Harry snorts. “He’s going to love you calling him that when he’s a teenager and too cool to be seen with us.”

“Stop Haz, I don’t want to think about that,” Louis groans.

“Besides, you’ll spend all day with kids talking about books and stuff. You’re going to have a great first day,” Harry assures him, changing the subject.

“The other kids aren’t as cute as mine,” Louis sighs. “But I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Harry smiles. “All of the students love Mr. Tomlinson.”

Louis just rolls his eyes and runs his hands through Beckett’s curls again, pulling his torso over so Beckett is curled up against him instead of spread out like a starfish. His other hand rests against his back as Beckett continues to breathe deeply. It’s amazing, really. He wakes up ridiculously early every morning before joining Harry and Louis and promptly falling into a deep sleep that takes monumental effort to wake him from. It probably is something Louis and Harry should worry about, their sons hatred of sleeping alone, but they both love having him there too much to try to stop it. Besides, it’s preferable to waking up to his cries every morning, which they were until he got big enough to get out his bed on his own. If he didn’t kick in his sleep so much, it’d be perfect.

“What are we going to do all day, huh?” Harry asks Beckett, who is perched on the top of the counter, waiting for Harry to feed him. Harry actually has their day planned, but he likes to ask Beckett anyway.

“Ice cream?” Beckett asks, looking up at Harry with big eyes. Harry laughs and kisses the top of his curls before ruffling them.

“You have the worst sweet tooth, Beck. You can have fruit and toast and other breakfast foods, but no ice cream.”

Beckett frowns but doesn’t say anything. He might be three, but he’s already learned not to argue with Harry when it comes to eating. He never wins, although Louis has caved a few times.

Harry lifts him up from the counter and places him on his booster seat, cutting up a banana and giving him a piece of toast before he starts to eat his own breakfast. “I think we’re going to do yoga today,” he says. “And then we’re going to start packing for our new house.”

“Don’t want a new house,” Beckett mumbles. It’s been a big problem for Harry and Louis. When they first told Beckett he was getting a new sibling and moving to a new home, he didn’t really understand it. They went over it a few times before it really stuck with him, and now he’s upset. He’s excited to be a brother, but he doesn’t want a new room. To be honest, Harry doesn’t either. He’s grown very attached to this stupid flat, with its small balcony and view of Louis’ old home. It’s where he met Louis, it’s where they first lived together, it’s where they brought Beckett home to, and it’s where he learned to walk and talk. Harry could cry thinking about it.

“A new house will be fun! You’ll get a new bedroom with more room for your toys, and a backyard to play football in, and a room for your baby brother or sister. You’re going to love it,” Harry tells him.

“My house,” Beckett says, looking around the small kitchen. Harry sighs and removes him from the chair, letting him roam freely while he cleans up.

Harry’s gotten into the habit of bringing Beckett to his yoga classes with him. It happened by accident at first, Louis having to teach and Harry’s mum’s car breaking down on the way to their flat. But he was so popular with his students and so well behaved that Harry started bringing him all the time. For a while he just colored and read on a yoga mat Harry dug out from the storage closet for him, but now he’s in the habit of imitating Harry, trying to do his own versions of downward dogs and child’s pose. He’s actually not that bad, much to Harry’s joy and Louis’ displeasure.

“Can’t you please just, like, let our child be normal? Did you really have to teach him to be a hippie before he firmly grasped using the toilet?” Louis had griped after the first time, when Beckett ran to greet him at the front door, babbling about “down dogs” and bare feet.

“He chose to!” Harry argued, laughing as he watched their son try to execute a few poses. “It was so cute, Lou, even you would’ve thought so. He’s the new star of the class.”

“Of course he is,” Louis had replied, picking Beckett up and placing kisses all over his face and hair while he squealed with laughter. “He’s our son.”

So now Louis has a miniature lion who enjoys doing yoga. With Harry as his father, he shouldn’t have honestly expected anything less.

Moving turns out to be emotional for all of them. Harry is teary as they pack, weepy as they remove their keys from their key rings. But it’s nothing compared to how Beckett is. Louis convinced him to get excited when he was able to pick the color of his bedroom (green) and realized he would have an entire yard to play football in. But the first night is possibly the most Beckett’s cried since he was a newborn.

He fell asleep fairly easily, but just as Louis is starting to drift off he can hear low whines come from Beckett’s room, for the third time since he went to bed.

“Harry, I can’t do this,” Louis cries, throwing the blankets off them. “I can’t make him sleep alone on his first night in a new, scary place.”

“But all the websites and books said that if we let him do it now, it’ll become a habit and he won’t be able to break it,” Harry answers, bleary with lack of sleep.

“Screw the books,” Louis mutters. “He can sleep with us until he’s twelve if he wants, I don’t care. I can’t sleep knowing he’s scared in that room all by himself.”

Harry just nods, watching Louis get up to get Beckett, bringing him back to their bed, where he crawls in between them, latches himself onto Harry’s side, and falls soundly asleep.

“Do you feel better?” Harry asks Louis when he knows Beckett’s deep in sleep.

“Yes,” Louis responds indignantly.

“Good,” Harry says. “I do too. Screw the books.”

Beckett sleeps with them every night for two weeks, before he slowly teaches himself to sleep on his own again. But he still climbs into their bed most mornings, squeezing between them and burrowing under their covers. Parenting books take away the best parts, Harry thinks when he wakes up to see Louis and Beckett cuddled up in each other.

//

Harry and Louis’ house is small and yellow, with a front porch and a backyard for Beckett to play soccer in. It has a slightly bigger kitchen, two bedrooms, and one nursery, painted in a circus theme this time, along with the four boys who occupy it. Louis knew it.

“Harry, why’re you up?” Louis mumbles sleepily when he feels Harry wrap himself around Louis like a blanket. “Gray just went back to sleep.”

“I don’t want it to be today,” Harry whispers, burying his face in Louis’ neck. Louis wants to laugh, a little, but he knows it wouldn’t be appreciated.

“It’s just school, Harry. He has to go. It’s required, actually.”

“I don’t understand how you’re so calm about this,” Harry complains. “You’re the one who hates the first day of school with a passion.”

“Because,” Louis sighs. “I’ve accepted that we made a mistake in teaching Beck to walk and talk and become his own person. It’s overrated, really. We’re not making that mistake with Gray.”

“Never,” Harry agrees, laughing a bit.

“Can we please try to go back to sleep?” Louis asks. “We have two more hours if we’re lucky and Gray doesn’t cry, and I’d really like to spend them sleeping. It’ll be easier to send him to school and spend all day teaching if I have some sleep.”

“Fine,” Harry huffs. “But we’re not doing this again. Ever. Gray’s never going to school and Beckett’s never going to uni. Not in a million years. And I’m saying it now so I don’t have to repeat myself in a few years.”

“Okay,” Louis laughs. “We’ll raise two uneducated boys. Sounds good to me.”

“You’re not funny,” Harry grumbles, full-on pouting as he turns to look at Louis.

“You’re too worked up, babe. He’s going to have a great first day. And you’re not going to cry or be upset about it when he wakes up in a few hours because he’s already nervous, and we don’t want to make him afraid of school, right?”

“Sure,” Harry coughs. “No tears. I just have to say goodbye to my baby and send him to a building full of strangers, far away from me. No big deal.”

“Harry…”

“I know, I know. It’s just…four years went by really, really quickly. He was just born yesterday.”

“At least we have another,” Louis offers. They both laugh at that, knowing one son couldn’t replace the other. But Louis is so thankful they had Gray before Beckett started school, because he doesn’t know what either of them would do without a baby.

“Thank God for that,” Harry mutters sleepily, having calmed down a little. Louis turns and cuddles into Harry, listening to his breathing even out.

Beckett stares gloomily into his bowl, his face as cloudy as the rainy sky outside their window.

“What’s wrong, Beck?” Harry asks as he flits around the kitchen, trying to keep everything as clean as possible. Funny how a baby, a little person who can’t even walk on his own, can create such a mess.

“I don’t want to go to school, Daddy,” Beckett whines, stirring his Cheerios with his head propped up on one hand. He pouts his lower lip and Harry can practically see him rolling his eyes in a few years. He’s really got to ask Louis to tone down the dramatics.

“Why, babe? You’re going to love school,” Harry tells him, putting down the last dish in the sink to take the seat next to Beckett.

“I just don’t want to go,” he says, staring into his bowl. Harry sighs and stands, ruffling Beckett’s hair before he decides to speak again. He knows his son and knows that, like Louis, if something is really bothering him he’s not going to tell Harry for a long time, and the more Harry tries to get it out of him, the more he won’t speak. Four year olds are more complicated than he thought, or at least his is.

“I don’t think you’re being fair, Beck. Give school a chance at least. If you really, really don’t like it we can find another school for you to go to, but you have to try, at least. Ok?”

“Ok,” he says glumly, and the sight of him looking upset breaks Harry’s heart.

“Babe, you’re going to have so much fun today, I promise. You get to use your new Spiderman backpack, and I bet the teacher will have some books for you to read. And there will be lots of kids for you to play with, and I bet some of them will like the same things you do, like football.”

Harry doesn’t add that his heart is breaking as he watches his son’s lip quiver slightly.

“You know, Daddy goes to school every day. And he loves it. School’s one of his favorite places,” Harry tells him.

“Really?” Beckett asks.

“Yeah,” Harry answers. “It’s because he’s smart, like you. School is where all the smart people go. And you get to learn new things, like how to write a lot of words. Daddy writes a lot, he loves to learn new words. I bet he’ll be really happy when you tell him you’ve learned some, too.”

Beckett’s face perks up a little, but he still doesn’t seem thrilled. Louis walks in with Gray bundled in his arms, a tiny hat on his head to accompany Harry and Louis on their way to take Beckett to school, before Louis carpools to his own school with another parent whose child starts today. Luckily, her daughter and Beckett are in the same class, so he’s not starting school completely alone.

“Daddy, do you really love school?” Beckett asks Louis, staring up at him with round, green eyes.

“Of course,” Louis replies. “It’s the best place in the world! You get to play and read and make new friends. I bet some of them will like Spiderman, too.” Beckett’s love for Spiderman comes directly from Zayn and Liam and crushes Louis a little bit. He was more of a Superman fan, personally. But if a Spiderman backpack is what it takes to get Beckett excited to go to school, he’ll take it.

“Ok,” Beckett says, looking happier and less pale as Harry straightens out his outfit. He takes about a million photos, give or take, of Beckett wearing his backpack and smiling outside their front door. Louis can see Harry getting a bit weepy behind the camera.

“Harry, we should go. We don’t want to be late and Gray’s got about a half hour before he starts to fuss.” Harry gets Beckett situated in the backseat before he slides into the passenger seat, not trusting his shaking hands to get them safely to school.

He cries. He cries the second Beckett sits in his assigned chair, next to a boy with blond hair and a Spiderman t-shirt on. He cries as he walks out of the classroom, one hand in Louis’ and the other holding Gray in his carrier.

“At least you kept it together until he wasn’t looking,” Louis chuckles.

“He didn’t even get upset,” Harry sniffles. “I thought kids were supposed to cry when they left their fathers.”

“He’ll miss you, Haz. You know he will. Besides, Gray’s going to keep you busy.”

“Not the same,” Harry sniffs.

“Of course it’s not the same. But think of how nice it will be to actually watch something you want to watch when Gray’s sleeping. Or to feed him without two arms wrapped around your leg. It’s going to be nice, Harry. I promise,” Louis says confidently. “And you know I miss you all the time.”

“Well, that’s really not the same,” Harry laughs, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “I love you, Lou.”

“Love you too,” Louis repeats, kissing Harry before he leaves for work. Harry will never know it, but Louis is fighting every urge in his body to turn around and steal his son back from that classroom. He makes a mental note to call his mum and apologize for every time he mocked her for crying. He understands it now.

As it turns out, Beckett loves school. Aside from an incident with the class rabbit, he does great, and is actually sad when the weekends come. Harry and Louis try not to be offended by that.

//

“Harry?”

“Hey, babe. What’s up? How are the boys?” Harry asks, voice crackling over the cell connection. He’s doing a photo assignment in Ireland, an offer he was hesitant to accept, but Louis assured him he could handle it. It was a dream opportunity for Harry, not to mention how badly he’s missed photography. It was harder for him to keep up with it once Gray came along, but he still took the odd assignment. As Gray gets older, Harry’s slowly resuming a heavier workload. Him and Louis have both agreed two sons are the perfect amount for them, so Harry can start working full-time again once Gray starts school. Harry considered putting Gray in daycare, but he just couldn’t do it.

“They’re good. Everything’s good, really good,” Louis stutters as he stands in their kitchen, trying hard not to jump up and down while he’s speaking.

“Is everything alright?” Harry questions, sounding concerned. “Your voice sounds funny.”

“It might sound funny because you’re speaking to a published author,” Louis practically shouts, giddy with excitement.

“What? Are you serious? Holy shit, Lou, I just got chills. Tell me everything!” Harry begs, feeling jittery from excitement all the way in another country.

It took Louis years and years before he felt ready to send his manuscript out to publishers. A lot of publishers, not just the few he sent copies to before he gave up all those years ago. But he finally felt ready and had an entirely new novel to send, the one he started right before Beckett was born.

“It’s a small deal, really. They’re going to be selling it online only, like on iPads and kindles or over amazon, but that’s still pretty good, right?”

“Lou, are you joking? That’s amazing,” Harry whispers, feeling tears pool in his eyes.

“Are you crying?” Louis asks. “I just told you I’m getting published and _you’re_ crying?”

“I’m so proud of you, Louis. Really, really proud,” Harry tells him. “I’m just…I’m so lucky, you know? Like you’re gorgeous and smart and a great father and you did it, yeah? Like you’re so determined and you finally got everything you wanted. I’m so proud,” he repeats again, hoping Louis can tell how badly Harry wishes he was with him right now, hugging and kissing him and seeing the look on his face when he found out.

He hears sniffs coming from the other end. “Louis? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Louis laughs. “I’m just…I’m really happy I yelled at you for reading to your plants in the middle of the night.”

Harry laughs back. “It’s been a hell of a ride, hasn’t it?”

“The best ride,” Louis replies. Him and Harry are staying on the line in silence, just listening to each other breathe, until he hears a crash and the telltale signs of a seven and three-year old fighting upstairs.

“Haz, I’ve got to go. But I love you a lot. I’ll see you soon, ok?”

“Three days,” Harry reminds him.

“Right,” Louis says. “Three days. Not nearly soon enough.”

 


End file.
